A Modern Day Revolution
by iColor With Crayons
Summary: It's 2016 and Alexander Hamilton is tired of the political discourse. I'm not that great with the briefing, but I swear it's better than this summary. The whole squad is there: Hamilton, Laurence, Hercules, Eliza, Lafayette, Washington, Angelica, Burr, George III...and Hamilton dates at least half of them.
1. Chapter 1

It was 2016 and, let's be honest, the political situation was more of a "shituation" that anything else. The bipartisan structure that had so long been the arena of American politics had split into miniscule factions, leaving dozens of small groups bickering amongst themselves over even the most remote issues. Getting 27% of votes was considered a "landslide." Things were bleak.

Enter: One Alexander Hamilton & Co.

Hamilton was a Federalist, but that hardly mattered. He was a seventeen year-old immigrant orphan, stealing away to the library whenever he could lay his hands on an extended curfew pass. They were few and far between. Still, Hamilton continued on with his self-taught course of study. He analyzed the political policies of surrounding nations, of past civilizations, and theories come up with by the best and the brightest. He dreamed of going to a good school and studying political science…maybe even ultimately becoming the answer to the calamity encompassing the country.

But he was an orphan with $0 to his name and 0 acquaintances to his reputation. The chances of any of this happening were very slim.

These thoughts haunted him as he made his daily journey from his terrible foster home with the Stevens to his terrible high school. His second-hand textbooks knocked around in his backpack, causing his already terrible posture to worsen.

As this precocious young man allowed himself to dwell on his thoughts, ignoring everything around him, he fell victim to a catastrophe that was to be expected - he ran into another man walking down the street. Judging by his clothes, his grooming, and his expensive phone, this man was well to-do. Such a social blunder surely would not do Alexander any favors.

"I'm sorry," He mumbled, casting his eyes downward. When he did, he couldn't help but notice the book the man was holding at his side. Alexander's demeanor suddenly became sunny without him even realizing it. "Is that Thomas Payne's new book?"

He didn't bother trying to hide his excitement.

The man looked at him with the same pleasantly astonished look that all of his teachers afforded him at school.

"Have you read his other works?" The man asked, his tone kind.

Alexander shook his head vigorously. "All of them. I've written reviews in my school's paper. No one really reads them, of course, but I'm sure they're still online. Not that you'd want to read a high school review of any of Payne's books when you've actually read them, but -"

"High school?" The man echoed. He laughed. "You're so young! What're you doing reading Thomas Payne?"

Alexander never understood why his age seemed to be such an important factor to adults when he was trying to discuss interesting things. His eyebrows knit together and his lips tightened into a straight line. "It's the only way to find footing in the political climate right now. I might not be able to vote yet, but I want to be ready when I do."

The man cocked his head to the side with another laugh. "Who are you?"

"Alexander Hamilton."

"Hamilton." The man mused thoughtfully. "I don't think I've heard the name before. What do your parents do?"

"Oh, uh," Alexander looked down at the ground, embarrassed. "They're…not around."

"Oh?" The man didn't seem to understand but didn't know how to ask.

"My mother died a few years ago…" Alexander shrugged, not wanting to reveal that, though his mother had fought with every fiber of her being to remain with her two sons, his father had left them on his own free will.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Alexander." The man said respectfully. "Are you staying with relatives now?"

"The Stevens." Alexander admitted reluctantly.

"The Stevens?" The man seemed surprised. "I know their son, Edward, but…unless…are you…?"

"They're my foster parents. For now." Alexander did not like the way that this conversation was guided, especially because he was so particularly disposed towards the kind man he'd met on the street.

"Really?" The man couldn't seem to believe it.

"Really." Alexander's face reddened.

"That's…" The man shook his head, clearing himself of disbelief, evidently. "No, that's wonderful. The Stevens are wonderful people and Edward is a bright young man. I'm sure you're very well suited together."

Alexander nodded. The man was starting to pity him. He didn't want to be pitied. "Anyway, I have school. I'm running late as it is. It was nice meeting you."

And with that, he escaped the sympathetic smile of yet another stranger.

* * *

"Alexander!" Edward was already at school. Edward was always at school earlier than Alexander. His mother gave him a ride to school on her way to work. She never offered to take Alexander, too. Alexander had too much pride to ask. Edward knew better than to interfere. It didn't make Alexander like him any less.

Alexander grinned. "Edward. Did you finish your paper on time?"

Edward wrinkled his nose. He was a much slower writer than Alexander. "Barely. It's not very good. Dare I ask how much you've written this morning alone?"

"Not as much as I should have." Alexander answered with a grin that suggested otherwise. "Are you walking home today?"

Edward shook his head with an apologetic smile. He was always so affable. "Soccer practice."

"Right." Alexander grimaced. "Well, okay. Then I guess I'll see you at dinner."

"Yeah, probably." Edward agreed. He didn't sound like he meant it. He probably didn't. He was a few months older than Alexander - meriting a whole grade level ahead - and surpassed Alexander's popularity by far. He wasn't worried about the political landscape of the world, nor was he concerned about the economic turmoil following the student loan crisis. He was worried about parties and girls and everyone liked him better for it. He was handsome, charming, and always knew how to talk to people. He undoubtedly had a date that weekend.

"Alexander!" Hercules Mulligan - Alexander's best friend - called from down the hallway. Class was about to begin and Alexander couldn't be late. The teacher, Dr. Cooper, disliked him enough as it was.

Alexander turned to look at Edward one last time. Edward smiled warmly.

"See you." He said, nodding at Alexander before walking towards his own classroom.

"So, Hammie," Hercules said conversationally. Alexander looked over, already grinning. "What are your weekend plans?"

"The library." Alexander answered automatically. His answer was already the same.

"With Laurens?"

John Laurens was Alexander and Hercules' mutual friend. Lately, Alexander had developed a devotion to Laurens that exceeded the normal bounds of friendship. As Alexander's best friend, Hercules recognized the signs of affection almost immediately. Alexander was hardly secretive when he harbored such feelings. And, as Alexander's best friend, Hercules knew that it was his duty to tease Alexander about those feelings.

"Probably." Alexander didn't mind. He knew that Hercules' teasing was all good-natured. Hercules liked both Alexander and John, and couldn't have been less concerned with their involvement.

"Any good books on the itinerary?"

"Thomas Payne's newest, probably."

"Hm." The two boys slid into their desks next to each other. "I've heard good things about it. Would you mind me dropping by at some point? I don't want to interrupt anything, of course, but,"

Alexander rolled his eyes. "You won't be interrupting anything, Mull. We're just reading."

"For now." Hercules teased.

Alexander rolled his eyes and turned to face the front of the classroom, his lips twisting into a reluctant smile.

* * *

"You sure you don't want to hang out at the shop for a little while? We don't have that many fittings scheduled, and we could work on our article for the paper about the presidential rallies in town." Hercules suggested as he and Alexander walked home. Hercules worked at a tailor's shop after school to save up for college.

"No, I'm meeting Laurens at the library." Alexander declined, shaking his head.

"Ooh," Hercules teased with a goofy grin. "Hammie and Laurens sitting in a tree -"

"Oh, shut up!" Alexander couldn't help but laugh. "We're working on French homework together. Apparently we're getting a French foreign exchange student soon, and I want to be able to talk to him about the rise of xenophobia in Europe."

"Studying French, eh? Oo-la-la!" Hercules blew a kiss in Alexander's direction. Alexander rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress another laugh.

"Go to work. You're going to be late."

Hercules glanced down at his watch. Despite his jolly nature, his work ethic was something to be admired. He was never late for school, never late for work, and neither his homework nor his alterations suffered as a result of him juggling the two.

"Okay. Call me later, though, alright? We need to work out the outline for that article." Hercules said. His serious tone conflicted with the playful expression that was constantly on his face.

"You got it." Alexander agreed readily. He enjoyed talking about politics with Hercules. They almost always agreed. "And don't forget to hem a few skirts just a little too much, alright?"

Hercules laughed. "Just for you, Hammie."

* * *

When Alexander arrived at the library, he found John sitting towards the back of the library. A stack of books were already accumulated by his feet.

"Don't tell me that you skipped class again." Alexander said, shrugging off his backpack and tossing it by the chair nearest to John.

John's baby blue eyes flicked up from the book to meet Alexander's own lavender eyes. A roguish smile graced his features.

Though the two had very similar opinions, Alexander and John were very different in composition. While Alexander remained in foster care and had very limited resources, John possessed all of the resources in the world. His father was a member of Congress and was constantly making use of his connections for John's benefit. John attended a private school just down the street from Alexander's public high school. He was handed internships at the most influential offices. He almost always skipped out on them in favor of skulking around the library or causing trouble at political rallies. He kept company with obscure figures of society, he smoked and drank more than any sixteen year-old ought to, and he opposed nearly everything just for the hell of it. It was hard not to like him solely for the novelty of it all.

"I've learned more from reading these books than I've learned all year in those stuffy classrooms." John answered, digging through his jacket pocket and procuring a pack of cigarettes. He placed a cigarette between his lips and fumbled around for his lighter.

"The point of those stuffy classrooms isn't to teach you anything very important," Alexander protested, plucking the cigarette from between John's lips. "It's to give you connections for the future. You know you can't smoke in here. It'll ruin the books."

"I know, I know." John agreed reluctantly. Alexander didn't know what he was agreeing to, exactly. "But it's so difficult to sit there when none of it matters. I feel like I could be doing so much more, you know? Well, of course you know." He carried on as though Alexander had already agreed. "You're smarter than all of us put together. It's got to be killing you."

"You're smart, Laurens." Alexander reminded him, his face reddening just a little.

"I know." John agreed easily. "But you're smarter. And you're more qualified than me for every job my dad throws my way. You know, I tell him every time that he ought to try you. I don't know what's stopping him."

"I think I have a hunch." Alexander replied, rolling his eyes. It was obvious. He was a nobody. He hadn't proven himself. Not yet, anyway.

John let out a frustrated sigh and reached for another cigarette. After meeting Alexander's disapproving stare, he tapped his fingers on his kneecap and sighed again. "But that's ridiculous, isn't it? It shouldn't matter who you know, or who knows someone you know. It should only matter what you can do. We've got to change it. We've got to."

"And we will." Alexander assured him, covering John's jittery hand with his own. "But in order to do that, we've got to fight this from the inside. That means you have to start going to class."

"Why do I have to be the martyr?" John asked with a wry grin.

"Oh, not the martyr." Alexander assured him, patting his hand. "Dying is easy. Living is harder."

John rolled his eyes. "You're a cliché, Alexander."

 **Dinner company tonight 6. Either be home or do not come home until dinner has ended.**

Alexander frowned at the text sent by Mr. Stevens. The tone wasn't cruel, necessarily, but it wasn't too inviting either. Still, he needed to eat and he couldn't afford to eat anywhere other than at the Stevens household.

"I've got to go." He told John regretfully.

"Dinner time already?" John asked, glancing down at his own watch.

"It would appear so." Alexander replied. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Sure." John agreed easily. "The foreign exchange student should be here by then."

"So soon?" Alexander wasn't eager to share John's attention just yet. They had only just begun to see more of each other one-on-one.

"It would appear so." John seemed bemused by Alexander's obvious disappointment. "Don't worry, I think you'll like Lafayette. He's one of us. And he's already read Payne's new book. Says he loved it."

Alexander nodded. He trusted John's judgment of Lafayette. Besides, as a general rule, Alexander liked people. He didn't necessarily trust them, but he liked them. "Then I look forward to meeting him. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." John agreed, nodding towards Alexander as he departed.

* * *

Alexander crept through the front door, listening for the sounds of clinking silver utensils. He was still thirty minutes early, but the Stevens were not known for following a strict schedule. Luckily, he could hear Mr. and Mrs. Stevens discussing the place settings in the kitchen.

Alexander quickly shuffled upstairs to change his clothes and put away his books.

"Alexander?" Mr. Stevens' voice came from the kitchen. "Is that you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Will you be joining us for dinner?"

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Stevens made a gruff noise before speaking again. "Have you met General Washington?"

"Washington?" Alexander's ears perked up.

Everyone knew about George Washington. He was the beginning of the new era. Every revolutionary had dreams of working alongside of Washington; of taking down the bipartisan structure by his side. If Washington was on your side, you were destined for greatness.

"Yes," Mr. Stevens seemed to know exactly why Alexander took an interest in the name. "But he's only here to have dinner. He is not here to discuss politics."

"Of course." Alexander agreed readily. He would have said whatever was necessary to keep his invitation to a dinner with George Washington. "No politics. What's for dinner?"

"Quiche." Mrs. Stevens responded smugly. She knew that Alexander hated quiche. He did everything that he could to resist wrinkling his nose. Dinner was of little importance compared to the chance to meet George Washington.

The doorbell rang.

"Are you coming down, or aren't you?" Mr. Stevens asked impatiently.

"Yes, sir!" Alexander called, his voice muffled by the semi-clean sweater he was attempting to yank over his head.

"Hurry up, then!" Mr. Stevens grumbled.

The moment Alexander's head cleared the neck of the sweater, he bounded down the elegant stairs and into the foyer. Mrs. Stevens spared him a look of disapproval before opening the front door, allowing an artificial smile to cross her face as she turned to face Mr. George Washington.

"Mr. Washington!" Mr. Stevens quickly brushed Mrs. Stevens out of the way. Though her artificial smile remained intact, Alexander could see the anger behind her eyes. He quietly stepped out of her way, eager to remain unnoticed. Mrs. Stevens had a nasty habit of lashing out at whoever was nearest to her.

"Mr. Stevens." Alexander finally caught his first glimpse of George Washington.

Except, it wasn't his first glimpse at all. It was just the man he'd run into on the street. He'd run into George Washington without even knowing it! And to think of the absent-minded, tactless way he'd behaved! Alexander blushed furiously as Washington's eyes landed on him.

"Right." Mr. Stevens noticed Washington's interest in Alexander. "I don't think you've had the pleasure of meeting our foster son, Alexander."

"On the contrary," Washington interjected with an amused smile. "We met this morning."

"This morning? But Alexander was at school." Mr. Stevens turned to look at Alexander, silently demanding an explanation.

"I was, sir." Alexander agreed hastily. He might have respected George Washington, but he was not going to get in trouble because of him. "I only ran into Mr. Washington on my way."

"Quite literally." Washington added, unhelpfully. Mr. Stevens glanced at Alexander, disapproving. Alexander would be receiving a lecture after dinner. Maybe the Stevens would even send him back to the orphanage. Quite possibly the latter. Alexander had been upsetting them fairly often these days.

"Poor boy, you must forgive him. He doesn't possess the manners that you and I take for granted," Mrs. Stevens interjected, grabbing Washington by the arm and guiding him towards the dining room. "And I'm sure he is just mortified by his conduct. Now, why don't we sit down and enjoy dinner? I've had the cook prepare a nice quiche."

"Quiche." Washington didn't look like he was much of a fan of quiche, either.

* * *

Revolutionary talk. There was revolutionary talk and Alexander was not permitted to engage in it at all. What made matters exceedingly difficult was that Mr. Stevens was so stupid and George Washington was so guarded. Mr. Stevens' stupidity was forgivable; the poor man hadn't chosen to be such an idiot, but Washington's conduct horrified Alexander. This was the most accomplished man in New York, and he was too reserved to even say what he thought about the place settings! How was anything going to change if no one spoke their mind?

"What do you think, Alexander?" The blessed question came from Washington two-thirds of the way through dinner.

"About what, sir?" Alexander asked, glancing at Mr. Stevens nervously. Mr. Stevens shook his head, forbidding Alexander to speak his mind.

"Anything we've been talking about. You've been quiet as a church mouse."

Alexander snuck one last glance at Mr. Stevens. Mr. Stevens shook his head again. Alexander turned back to look into Washington's warm eyes.

"I think that we're not doing enough by talking about it; by electing a few delegates to a committee that may or may not have any authority over its intended subjects."

"Is that so?" Washington asked.

"It would appear so to me, sir." Alexander answered, jutting his chin out proudly. He may not have had money, or connections, or the support of his family, but he had his thoughts. They were excellent thoughts.

"What do you recommend we do, instead?" Washington asked. It was then that Alexander remembered that Washington was working closely with the committee he had just criticized. Alexander smiled graciously.

"I think we ought to declare the current government null and void, outright." He said decisively.

"Alexander!" Mr. Stevens admonished. "Think of the consequences!"

Well, if he was already going to be lectured by the end of dinner, there was no use in holding back his thoughts.

"I am, sir! As it stands, whichever faction has the most cult-like following has the authority to do whatever they like; to promote their interests over everyone else's! If we moderate and speculate in the hopes that they will reform on their own, we will only see one single faction grow stronger until we are suddenly faced with a dictatorship."

"The government is not out to get you, Alexander. If they are overruling the majority's decision, it is because they are doing what is best for the people."

"No, it's not." Alexander objected, growing excited. "It's because they are doing what's best for their party. Why should it matter if women get abortions?"

"Alexander!" Mrs. Stevens objected shrilly.

"Why should it matter if two gay men want to get married?" Alexander demanded over Mrs. And Mr. Stevens' joint protests. "Why should it matter if a couple of immigrants want to come into the country to work? That could only strengthen the economy! No, when the government acts, it is most certainly not in the best interest of the people. It is only so they leave us so limited, so meek, that they may rule over us for centuries to come."

"So you'd have us overthrow them?" Washington asked, unbothered by Alexander's treasonous talk.

"No," Alexander smiled, shaking his head. "We should refuse to recognize them at all. We don't have to overthrow that group of men and women, because they will have no authority in the first place."

"And if they use their troops against us?"

"Most of the troops dislike the president in the first place." Alexander argued.

"That may be so, but that still leaves quite a bit of troops to oppose us." Washington reminded him. That kind smile of his hadn't left his face all dinner.

"Well, then, we fight."

"And if we lose?"

"I would rather perish a lion on the battlefield than a lamb to the slaughter."

"Hm." Washington nodded thoughtfully.

"Alexander." Mr. Stevens' tone was firm. "I think that you had better go start your homework. You're exhausting Mr. Washington."

"Yes, sir." Alexander knew to quit while he was ahead. At least George Washington knew what he thought. That was enough. For now.

As he ascended the stairs, he heard something that caused his heart to stop in his chest.

"In a few years, I think Alexander Hamilton will become a household name. Mark my words: history has its eyes on that one."


	2. Chapter 2

"So you met him?" Hercules asked excitedly the next day, trotting alongside of Alexander in the direction of the school. "The real George Washington?"

"Is there a fake George Washington?" Alexander teased. He liked that he had information that Hercules was so interested in. Usually, things worked the other way around.

Hercules was unfazed. "What was he like? Did he talk to you? Did he say anything about the revolution?"

"He asked me what I thought." Alexander answered proudly.

"What you thought?" Hercules was impressed. "Jesus, I'm surprised you're here and not still at home telling George Washington what you think."

"I got cut off." Alexander admitted.

"Whew." Hercules shook his head. "Did you tell Laurens yet?"

Alexander frowned. "No. He was with that French exchange student last night. I didn't get a chance to talk to him. We just sent a few texts here and there."

"Jealous?" Hercules ventured carefully.

"No," Alexander decided. "He's free to see whomever he likes. We understand each other. I'm glad he's enjoying Lafayette's company. And anyway, I've got the revolution."

"Ah, yes. Your one great love. The revolution." Hercules chuckled as they walked into the building.

* * *

School was its usual dull occasion. Alexander was years ahead of the curriculum and spent every moment in class trying to read his book. The teachers knew that he was too smart to possibly be interested in their lesson but insisted on telling him to pay attention anyway.

John sent him the occasional text message - it seemed that he was taking another "mental health day," as he called his bouts of truancy - but Alexander remained otherwise unstimulated. It wasn't until he was walking out of the building with Hercules that Alexander's day began to turn around.

"That's him." Hercules' revert tone caused Alexander to look up from the ground.

"Who are you - " He didn't need to finish his question. It became perfectly clear who Hercules was referring to.

George Washington.

"Hamilton." Washington was still smiling.

"Mr. Washington. Sir." Alexander stumbled over to Washington uncertainly. Hercules lingered at a distance. There was another young man standing by Washington's side - Aaron Burr.

Alexander had encountered Aaron a number of times since arriving in New York. They were frequently invited to the same parties. Like Alexander, Aaron had been orphaned at a fairly young age. Unlike Alexander, Aaron had been left with a rather large trust fund and a sterling reputation. He was also a year younger than Alexander, though he had already escaped the confines of a foster home by enrolling in the same private school that John attended. He was one of the students who boarded on campus. Still, Alexander liked Aaron just fine. He was good company, though not an extraordinary revolutionary. His presence with George Washington, however, suggested otherwise.

"Hamilton." Aaron said, cracking a small, only slightly condescending, smile.

"Burr." Alexander allowed with a smile of his own.

"Did you have a challenging day of academia?" Washington asked, gesturing towards the building.

Alexander's smile broadened. "No, sir."

Washington laughed. "No, I didn't think so. You seem awfully bright, Alexander. Perhaps just a touch too bright to be suffering a public school curriculum."

"If it's good enough for the people, it's good enough for me." Alexander lied. He wanted to sound every inch the revolutionary that he considered himself to be. "I just wish they'd let me graduate early."

Aaron raised his eyebrows. "Won't they?"

Alexander's eyebrows furrowed. "No. Everyone has to spend four years in school to get their diploma."

"I'm getting mine this year." Aaron remarked. "And Madison got his after only two years."

"And nearly killed himself in the process." Washington reminded him, his smile disappearing. The look he cast Aaron was critical. Alexander bit back a smirk. "Alexander, I haven't come here to suggest that you run yourself ragged -"

"Oh, you don't need to suggest that. He'll do that on his own." Hercules chimed in very suddenly. Alexander turned around to look at him in surprise. Washington stared at him blankly.

"Hercules Mulligan." Hercules introduced himself, extending a hand towards Washington. Washington shook it with a smile before returning his attention to Alexander.

"Son, I think that you have a lot of potential." Alexander loathed being called "son," but just this once, he would make an exception. But only for George Washington. "Would you consider attending the private school down the road?"

"Sir?" Aaron looked affronted. "He's nearly finished his course of study. Surely he can't -"

"Burr." Washington silenced him with another stern look.

"Sir?" Alexander no longer cared about Washington's interactions with Burr. He was only interested in what Washington's words meant for him.

"Alexander." Washington nodded, proceeding. "There's an open position if you're interested."

"I could never afford -" Alexander shook his head, his face reddening.

"I thought you might work for me." Washington responded. "If you answered my emails, briefed documents, and helped me sort through the colossal pile of letters sitting in my office, I would be glad to pay your tuition."

"Really?" Alexander could hardly believe his luck.

"Absolutely. It would be a bargain; I looked at your review of Thomas Payne's former books. From what I've seen, you're an incredible writer."

"He is." Hercules interjected again. "Greatest writer I've ever heard of. It's all he does. He writes more than any two people could in their entire lifetime, all in one night. He could answer all of the letters on your desk in two hours, probably. And you could publish each reply they're so good -"

"Mull, what're you doing?" Alexander hissed, turning to look at Hercules in surprise.

Hercules just smiled. There was a grave element to his smile, something that Alexander could not understand. "Telling Mr. Washington the truth. You're a genius, Hammie, but you'll never get far here. If you go to that school, you can meet people who can help you do something with your life. You can rise above your station, just like you've always wanted."

"So?" Washington glanced between Alexander and Hercules.

Alexander smiled. His smile was also tinged with gravity. Now he understood. In ascending to the heights of Washington's protégée, he would be leaving Hercules behind. Sure, he'd still see his best friend all the time, but they would be standing on different playing fields. Alexander would be up high, equals with the likes of Aaron Burr and John Laurens. Hercules would be down low, clamoring over the obstacles that George Washington's hadn't removed for him.

Still, this was his only ticket out. Alexander had to take it. Even if that meant leaving Hercules behind.

"Yes, sir. I accept."

Alexander and Hercules nodded at each other, both understanding the weight of Alexander's acceptance.

* * *

"Washington himself? Really? That's great," John remarked when Alexander told him the news. "I like Washington a lot. He's a little stagnant for my taste, but he's important to know if there's ever a revolution."

"If?" Alexander challenged.

"When." John sighed, rolling his eyes. A thick cloud of smoke was released from his mouth as he sighed. Alexander coughed against his will. He suffered from bouts of asthma from time to time and perpetually being around John, who smoked like a chimney, did not help.

"I hate that I'm going to have to sit at his desk." Alexander grumbled. "I wish he'd give me a more important job."

"More important? You're exchanging emails with members of the government. How much more important can you be?" John responded, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"You know what I mean, because you want the same thing. Why have you turned down every single job your dad has tried to get you?"

"Poor work ethic." John answered with a smirk.

"Because you want to be free to fight the moment that it happens." Alexander persisted.

"Yeah, well, if Washington is in charge, that may never happen."

"He can't really be that bad."

"Not bad, just careful." John amended. He glanced at Alexander, not turning his head. Alexander could only see the profile of a lazy smile that was so characteristically 'John Laurens'. "It'll drive you crazy."

"And speaking of crazy," Alexander glanced over a the bookshelf nearest them. There was a boy about their age lingering nearby, staring at them as though they were just a TV show for him to watch. "Is that him?"

"Who?" John looked in the direction of the boy, his gaze bored. "Oh, yeah. Lafayette, hey. C'mere."

" _Bonjour_." Lafayette, presumably, said, smiling between Alexander and John shyly. His accent was thick as tar. H's in particular seemed to be troublesome to pronounce. " _Monsieur 'amilton_?"

" _Monsieur Lafayette, Bonjour._ " Alexander grinned, sticking his hand out towards Lafayette. Lafayette immediately accepted it. He had a great handshake; confident, but not overbearing. Alexander immediately decided to like him.

"I 'ave 'eard much about you," Lafayette told Alexander. "It seems zat your Laurens is very trussful."

"And how's that?" Alexander asked, sparing John a smirk.

"You are very handsome, no?" Lafayette replied, smiling. "So I am sure you are just as smart as 'e says."

"Let's hope so." Alexander agreed, finally dropping Lafayette's hand. "I'd hate to disappoint you."

Lafayette smiled bashfully for a moment before looking at John. His expression turned nervous. "Well, but, I am sure that my disappointment could not compare to zat of your Laurens."

John rolled his eyes, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Don't worry yourself about it, Lafayette. Hammie'll fall in love with you whether you encourage it or not."

"I will not!" Alexander objected, knowing that he actually, very probably, would.

John rolled his eyes again. "Since when have you bothered with niceties? It's no problem. You know I don't care. But you're generous with your heart, Hammie. You'll fall in love with just about anybody on the street. I'm constantly amazed that you haven't eloped yet."

"Laurens." Alexander's face reddened. He couldn't deny that it was the truth - Alexander really did fall in love with an extraordinary amount of people at once - but it was painful to hear John acknowledge it so frankly. He liked to believe that he was so tender, so devoted in his affections, that John didn't notice. That nobody but him noticed. Evidently, that was not so.

"Eet's okay." Lafayette interjected. "I understand. Eet is very much the French fashion."

"See?" John said, gesturing towards Lafayette. He smiled, his cigarette dangling from his lips. "You're fashionable, Hammie."

"Well," Lafayette said, contradicting himself with a rueful smile. "Not _too_ fashionable, I 'ope."

* * *

Alexander had been working for George Washington for two days and it was already driving him crazy. The focal point of his insanity: Aaron Burr.

"I don't know why you have to follow me around everywhere." He grumbled, trudging through the gilded hallways of his new school. Passerby students afforded him strange looks, eying his muddy sneakers and his second hand textbooks distastefully.

"Because Mr. Washington put me in charge of your orientation." Aaron answered matter-of-factly. "There's no need to be embarrassed, Alexander."

"I'm older than everyone here." Alexander complained quietly.

"You've had a late start." Aaron reminded him, not unkindly.

That was the strange thing about Aaron Burr. He was a notorious gossip - Alexander had heard some of his rumors while still in public school - but it was difficult to remember that while in his presence. Aaron had a practiced charm to him that made it difficult not to let things slip; it would only come back to one's memory that oversharing with the town gossip was a bad idea when Aaron was out of sight. Alexander loathed and admired that quality about him.

"And my start will be later still if I'm to spend all of my free time serving as Washington's secretary." Alexander grumbled.

"It's a good opportunity." Aaron said, ever the picture of studied grace. "I worked for him a few months back. I'm very grateful for the time I spent with Mr. Washington."

"But you don't anymore?"

Aaron shook his head. "A better opportunity presented itself."

"What opportunity?" Alexander asked, his eyes narrowing. Aaron already had such a jump start on him; he was graduating a whole year before Alexander. Additionally, he had a sterling reputation and connections that Alexander would have killed for.

Aaron glanced around before smiling conspiratorially. "I joined the rebellion."

"What?" Unlike Aaron, Alexander could not keep his emotions beneath the surface. "The rebellion? Are you taking part in the fighting? Who do you know? Whose group did you join? My friend Mulligan is in the Sons of Liberty - have you met him?"

"Slow down." Aaron chuckled. Alexander frowned petulantly. He did not like the condescending tone that Aaron was using. A sixteen year-old did not have the authority to tell him to slow down. "I'm with Gates' regiment right now. We're not fighting, yet, we're only training in case we do."

"That's what I should be doing!" Alexander remarked. "I want to be fighting. I want to be making a difference. I don't want to spend my day chained to Washington's desk, answering letters and writing schedules. I could be doing so much more!"

"Relax, Alexander." Aaron's condescending tone was in full force. "There is still plenty of time to fight."

"There's never enough time." Alexander grumbled, snatching at a school newspaper lying on top of a nearby locker in an attempt to ignore Aaron. News of political turmoil was spattered across every inch of the page. "I need to do something. I'll never rise above my station sitting at Washington's desk."

"You're sitting at Washington's desk." Aaron interjected, an uncharacteristically snide expression taking hold of his features. "That's as high a station as someone whose been dealt your hand could possibly achieve. You'll just have to fight the revolution from your desk."

Alexander's chest filled with hate. He knew the social implications of snapping back at Aaron's cold statement, but biting his tongue felt like biting a bullet.

"I suppose I will." He said, his voice strained.

Well, he'd show him. He'd show him exactly what he could do from a desk.

* * *

 **Hi everyone. This isn't part of the story - this is your writer speaking. I'm actually just writing this as a Christmas present for a friend and thought that I might as well post it on the off chance that someone was interested. As you can imagine, I'm thrilled that you guys are actually reading! Anyway, I thought I might add a little note for people reading this out of context:**

 **-I majored in economics, minored in history in college, then proceeded to law school. Alexander Hamilton has been haunting me via every academic area I've pursued for years, so you must excuse me if I write him as a little shit who buzzes around everyone like a nat. Literally I have had classes in at least 5 separate lecture halls named after Hamilton. I love him dearly, believe me, but if anyone needed a chill pill, it was Alexander.**

 **-99.9% of the people mentioned are real. I've tried to keep them in as truthful a context as is possible given the time period I'm writing them in. That said, I'm open to criticism. Please let me know if you think I'm making Burr too much of a villain (although, let's be real, Burr was no saint), or if I'm making Washington too much of a social butterfly (because we all know that isn't true).**

 **-I'm not name-calling anyone from this time period. I've done enough law school to know better than to get my ass sued for libel. No one from the revolution can sue me for libel because 1) they are not familiar with modern law, and 2) they are dead and dead people generally don't bother suing for things like libel. Generally.**

 **-Reviews motivate me. I know they shouldn't. I know it's all arbitrary. That said, my ego is about half the size of Hamilton's; that is to say, it's huge. The more reviews I get, the more I write. The longer the reviews are, the more they influence what I write. So hey, if you want to hear more, encourage me.**


	3. Chapter 3

Alexander prospered at his new school. Each of his professors eagerly took Alexander under their wing, thinking that the poor, misguided orphan would flounder without their assistance. In an exercise of diplomacy, Alexander allowed each professor to maintain this idea. It only suited his purposes better.

He got along famously with his roommate, Robbie Troup. Robbie recommended Alexander to the school paper, over which Aaron Burr presided as the editor. Aaron allowed Alexander onto the paper without much hassle, but he criticized every piece that he turned in thereafter. He didn't give anyone else the same attention. He certainly didn't give Troup the same attention. Troup got to take pieces on politics and feature pieces on people like George Washington, Philip Schuyler, and George Clinton. Alexander was given fluff pieces. He interviewed the employees of the cafeteria, the neighborhood dog walker, and, yes, the class president's grandmother. Occasionally, Aaron would allow Alexander to slip in a piece of poetry or two. He was not allowed a single opinion piece.

Washington continued to ask Alexander to perform menial tasks. For four to five hours after school, Alexander answered hundreds of emails in Washington's name. John frequented Washington's office when Alexander was working. Lafayette often accompanied him. Washington didn't mind. He had already met - and genuinely liked - John, and Lafayette's extensive military knowledge kept Washington entertained during his five-minute lunch break. Alexander was glad for the company, too. Seeing John, Lafayette - and sometimes, on very, _very_ rare occasions, Hercules (who could never get away from work for too long) - was a welcomed relief after hours of niceties at school. Alexander could very rarely say what he thought, for all of the professors favored George Hanover (the newly elected president; a very controversial figure), and none of the boys were eager to speak out against him with the risk of trouble looming overhead.

All in all, Alexander was feeling horribly oppressed. He had no outlet to express his frustration with the political structure. Meanwhile, the people were rioting. There were protests in the cities, flags burning in almost every street, and thousands of blogs dedicated to the new order. Alexander was writing his opinions, too, but they were all works in progress. All of them amounted to at least fifty pages each, and no one on the internet would bother reading anything past two pages. Brevity was not Alexander's strong suit.

This was all about to change.

Samuel Seabury had just gone off on a tangent on a very prominent, pro-government news channel, and Alexander Hamilton had a lot to say about it.

* * *

"No." Robbie insisted, shaking his head and making a sweeping motion with his pudgy hands. "No way. Dr. Cooper would _kill_ you."

Dr. Cooper was close friends with Samuel Seabury, it seemed. He was also the headmaster of King's College, their current school. He doted on Alexander, just like all of the other staff members. Regardless of this connection, Alexander had taken two nights to sift through all of his notes and musings, compounding them into a thirty-five page essay dashing each point that Seabury had made, as well as including a few insults for Alexander's own satisfaction.

"That's why I need it to be published _anonymously_." Alexander insisted, waving the thick stack of pages in front of Robbie's face again. Robbie pushed the papers away and tried to focus on his meal. Alexander had waited until they were in the dining hall - the only place where they could be adequately ignored - to present the issue. "Troup, you know that the less educated public is going to believe him. They're going to reject the provisional Congress and accept Hanover if they think that they don't have any other choice."

"And you think that publishing a novel in the school paper will change their mind?" Robbie asked dubiously.

"Yes!" Alexander replied, frustrated that Robbie still didn't understand. "The paper is distributed not only to us, but it's available in super markets all around the city! And it'll be posted on the school website. You know how these kind of things circulate - it could go viral."

Robbie didn't look convinced. "You think that an essay disputing something someone said on the news is going to go viral? Hamilton, have you ever _seen_ a viral post?"

Alexander waved off Robbie's question, unconcerned. "I know, I know. It's mostly puppies and babies covered in peanut butter. But what about the political ones? What about that woman who spent fifteen minutes screaming into her camera about why everyone should stand beside Hanover? _She_ went viral."

"Because _she_ knew better than to write an essay to get her opinions heard." Robbie insisted.

"Just hand it to Burr," Alexander pleaded. "Tell him that you got it from an anonymous source. If he knew that I wrote it, he wouldn't even look at it. If he thinks that someone else wrote it, he might actually give it a fighting chance."

"And then what?" Robbie asked, his voice full of frustration. "Do you really think that he can publish it? Dr. Cooper would shut the paper down if he even tried."

"I thought that we were allowed to publish whatever we wanted! What about freedom of speech?"

"We're _students_. We don't have any freedoms."

"That's the problem!" Robbie had made a mistake. He had gotten Alexander Hamilton worked up. "All of the constitutions and declarations say that we have all of these freedoms and rights, but the moment we try to exercise them, they tell us that we're overreaching!"

"Who is _they_?" Robbie asked impatiently.

"The government. The anti-people!" Alexander exclaimed.

Robbie sighed, dropping the breakfast sandwich that he'd been eating. "Do you really think that you're going to topple the government by publishing some essay in the school paper?"

"I think that it's worth a try."

"Fine." Robbie grumbled. "But don't think that I'm doing this because I think you're right; I just want to eat my breakfast in peace. I'll tell Burr that I got it from a cousin or something."

Alexander beamed. "You're a saint, Troup."

* * *

Alexander fidgeted, watching Robbie and Aaron discussing his "anonymous" article. Burr was leaning back in his chair, considering the right words to say. Troup was picking at his fingernails nervously.

"Rob," Aaron finally said. "I'm going to be straight with you. This essay's got bite, but Dr. Cooper would kill it in its tracks. Seabury is one of his closest friends, and besides, it would only cause more unrest within the school. I would get fired as the editor, and you would probably be asked to leave as a writer."

Alexander's jaw muscles tightened. He knew that Aaron wasn't a respectable revolutionary. If he were, he would've had no qualms with publishing the piece, no matter what the consequences were.

"I understand." Robbie cared about the revolutionary ideas circulating the school - Alexander lived with him, he knew this for a fact - but he also cared for his position in society. If pressing for Alexander's piece would cost him his station, he would not see it through. Alexander could not find it within himself to fault Robbie for this. "Thanks for giving it a read. I'm sure that's enough for my cousin."

Both Robbie and Alexander knew that it wasn't even close to being enough.

Still, Robbie had the good grace to stand up, thank Aaron for his time, and return to his own cubicle. Alexander frowned and went back to writing a poem that Aaron had requested just in time for Valentine's Day.

A few minutes later, Aaron stood up from his desk and sauntered over to the water cooler. He filled up his water bottle, stopped at a few cubicles to check on the progress of all of the writers. Alexander did his very best to ignore Aaron until Aaron was finally at his desk.

"Hamilton." Aaron's voice was low, conspiratory. "I know the essay was yours."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Alexander replied, not looking up from his poem.

"This." Aaron plopped Alexander's response to Seabury on his desk. "I think I've read enough of your tirades to know your voice. What are you trying to do, Hamilton? Start a revolution by getting us all expelled?"

Aaron sat on the corner of Alexander's cubicle. Alexander narrowly resisted the urge to jam his pen into Aaron's thigh.

"Can't prove anything, Burr." Alexander kept his eyes trained on his poem.

"All I'm saying is, be careful. Once something is in writing, you can't take it back." Aaron said, looking Alexander over one more time before returning to his desk.

* * *

Alexander Hamilton was in rare form. He paced the floors of George Washington's office, ignoring the constant 'ping' sound informing him of another email.

"He wouldn't even _consider_ it!" He raved. "Didn't even think twice before rejecting it. He said it would get him fired as editor. Who cares? If he really believed in this revolution, he wouldn't think twice about publishing it. You know what I think? I think that he didn't publish it because he knew that it was mine."

John and Lafayette, who were so unfortunate as to find themselves in George Washington's office at the time, exchanged knowing looks.

"Don't take it so personal, Hammie." John said. "You know Burr as well as I do. He's cautious; that's all. It doesn't mean that he doesn't think your writing is good. Doesn't mean he isn't a revolutionary, either. He's just trying to be wily."

"We don't need wily, we need bold! We need someone who is going to take action."

"Someone like you, perhaps?" Lafayette asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Alexander turned to look at Lafayette, frowning. John sighed and sat up in his chair, ready to intervene before Alexander and Lafayette got into their very first fight.

"So Burr doesn't publish your essay," He said, playing with Alexander's emotions by using that effortlessly amiable tone of his. "So what? That isn't the only news outlet in the world, you know. It might be the worst news outlet, come to think of it."

"I'm sorry, was that meant to make me feel better?" Alexander asked, glaring at John without much malice.

"Publish it somewhere else." John said, shrugging. "Can't be that hard."

"Somewhere like the _Times_?" Alexander asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Not the _Times_." John shook his head, stamping out his cigarette on the corner of Alexander's desk. The desk probably cost more than everything that Alexander owned combined, but that hardly mattered to John. Alexander tried to pretend that it didn't matter to him, either. He had to learn to get used to rich people disregarding their own wealth. "They just published a pro-Hanover article against immigration."

Beneath the cool exterior that John Laurens had created for himself, he was a passionate activist. More than once, he had climbed into the Stevens' attic after getting into scuffles with authority figures at rallies and riots. Alexander couldn't count the number of times that he had stolen band aids from Mrs. Stevens' first-aid kit, the number of times that he had escorted John to the hospital, or the number of times that he had bailed John out of jail. Immigration was his particular pet project. He dreamt of a country with open borders, where anyone could escape political or religious oppression and seek the same opportunities as everyone else.

"The _Post_?" Alexander tried again.

"Sure." John acted as though he didn't care at all.

"Hamilton." Washington's voice came from his back office.

"Yes, sir?" Alexander glanced backwards, allowing Lafayette to snatch the essay out of his hands as he shifted his attention back to his one way ticket out of obscurity.

"Tell Laurens and Lafayette to find somewhere else to loiter. I need you to deliver a few letters for me."

Alexander turned to smile at his friends sheepishly. John grunted, hoisting himself to his feet. He punched Lafayette's arm as he rose. Lafayette didn't take offense to the action. He just leaped to his feet.

"Looks like our Hammie has to get back to it. Don't forget what I said about publishing that essay, man. It's good. Really. Someone should tell that Seabury prick what's what. Better you than the other pricks at the news stations." John cast Alexander an encouraging smile that seemed to be reserved exclusively for him. Lafayette also smiled, but that was little surprise. Lafayette was usually smiling. He was one amiable Frenchman.

"Hamilton." Despite what everyone said, George Washington was not an exceptionally patient man.

"Yes, sir." Alexander placed his essay in the drawer of his desk - now burnt by John's cigarette - and headed towards Washington's office.

* * *

"You want to submit an article?" The receptionist at the Post looked at Alexander Hamilton like he had lost his damned mind. " _You_?"

"Yes, sir." Alexander's face reddened with shame. He could feel the receptionist's eyes lingering on his secondhand clothes.

"Well," The receptionist shook his head and typed something on his computer. "I can't promise you anything by a long shot, kid, but I'll submit it to my editor. What's your name?"

"Oh, no." Alexander shook his head. "It has to be anonymous."

The receptionist stopped typing. He turned to look at Alexander, arching an eyebrow. "If you don't give me a name, you can't get paid. Cost/benefit analysis and all."

"Fine." Alexander nodded his head vigorously. "That's fine."

"Really?" The receptionist looked him over again. "You can do without the money?"

"I didn't write this for the money. I wrote this for the good of the nation." Alexander insisted. "I just can't attach my name to it, yet."

"Whatever you say, kid." The receptionist shrugged, accepting Alexander's essay. Alexander thanked the irritable receptionist one last time before leaving. He was already 20 minutes late for a meeting with Dr. Cooper regarding his college applications.

* * *

 _Our political plight is as follows: President George Hanover has risen to power through fascist ideas that are seizing hold of the civilized world. The European continent has already fallen victim to xenophobia and closed-off economics; such backwards concepts have now come to pay court to America. By advocating blind support for all of President Hanover's future endeavors, Samuel Seabury wishes to damn us to a fate, the magnitude of which cannot yet be conceived._

 _Mob mentality is never an ideal answer to a political disagreement - I must concede this point. When, however, mob mentality is the exact means by which a tyrant has seized power, it is the only way answer to a political disagreement. The following will serve as an open letter to Mr. Seabury, defending the "mob of revolutionaries," and forcibly reacquainting him with reality; it seems that he has been on a mental vacation as of late._

 _First, I will settle the question of mercantilism…_

"God damn it," Aaron growled from his desk, slamming the _Post_ on his desk. Alexander pretended not to notice. He just kept on writing the series of poems for the stupid Valentine's Day paper. "Hamilton, get over here."

"I'm a little busy, Burr."

"Make time."

Alexander sighed and closed the school laptop that he had borrowed from the library. He trudged over to Aaron's desk, where the young editor was seething. Aaron gestured towards the conference room, away from the curious stares of the other students. Alexander reluctantly followed him into the room.

"What were you thinking?" Aaron held up his copy of the _Post_.

"I was thinking that _someone_ needed to stand up to Seabury. Why not me?"

"Because you're a student. Because Dr. Cooper will expel you if he finds out. Because you're advocating violence. Because you're opening yourself up to a huge backlash if anyone finds out that it was you."

"Are you going to tell anybody?" Alexander asked, cocking his head to the side curiously. He knew that Aaron wouldn't. He might have been a notorious gossip and a social opportunist, but he was still a revolutionary. Or, at least, he liked to believe that he was. That was enough, really. Aaron had just as much at stake as Alexander did; he just wasn't as explicit about it. They both needed the revolution to succeed in order to survive.

Aaron shook his head, his lips pursed. "If it gets back to Dr. Cooper that I knew about this…"

"Then I'll tell him that I had to turn to the _Post_ because you didn't approve. How were you supposed to know that I would go to another source?"

"Because you're Alexander Hamilton." Aaron rolled his eyes. "I would have been more surprised if you'd just let it die."

"Look," Alexander lowered his voice, glancing around the glass conference room. Everyone in the writer's room was still looking at the two of them curiously. Everyone aside from Robbie, that was. Robbie had a pretty could idea of what was going on and just plain didn't want to get involved. "We're reaching the brink of something important, Burr. Now isn't the time to hold your plans to your chest and wait until someone presents you with some golden opportunity. You have to seize your own opportunities from thin air. Make something of yourself instead of letting the world make something of you."

Aaron just smiled and patted Alexander on the shoulder. "It was a good essay, Hamilton."

With that, he exited the conference room.

* * *

 **Ham's bickering with Seabury and the revolution is hanging in the air! Now the fun stuff is really going to get started.**

 **I got some questions regarding the political situation encompassing the story since it's set in 2016; I hope this chapter helps. If it doesn't, here's the rundown as I consider it:**

 **Xenophobia (a fear of immigrants, essentially) is spreading throughout the countries, causing most governments to take a fascist (borderline tyrannical) shift. George Hanover (aka George III) was elected as the head of the executive branch through back door dealings and swaying of the electoral college despite the votes of the populace. Government restrictions cripple the pseudo capitalist economy, but in a way that is only detrimental to the impoverished. The wealthy succeed and are allowed monopolistic pursuits while mom and pop stores are burdened with massive tax brackets and high burdens of licensing and regulation. So the poor are suffering, a tyrant is reigning, and there isn't enough freedom within the constraints created to do a thing about it. Basically.**

 **Not that that could ever happen, of course. (*Insert side eyes here)**

 **ANYWAY,**

 **I hope that clears up the situation for anyone that was curious and couldn't really derive that from my ambiguous allusions to it. And, of course, if you have any more questions, feel free to message me. Despite being a law student maintaining an internship and working on a novel, I seem to have a startling amount of time for goofing off and telling everyone what I think about everything.**

 **Also, because I need some kind of structure in my life (so as not to neglect everything until this is finished), I'll be posting new chapters every Friday. Again, you're free to message me asking questions, and if you read a biography of Hamilton, you can probably figure out what happens next, but if you want my weird little modernization of it, you'll have to wait 6 days.**

 **Until next week, folks!**


	4. Chapter 4

Things were moving fast. Alexander's letter to the Post had gotten enough attention that Samuel Seabury had written a response. Shortly thereafter, Alexander had submitted an eighty-six page essay combating every principle that he had ever taken a stand on and defending the ideals of the revolution.

While this was going on, the makeshift government, entitled the Continental Congress, had appointed George Washington as the Commander in Chief to the rebel forces. Shortly thereafter, fighting had begun in New York. Alexander had asked Washington - now called General Washington - to allow him to resign in order to remain at King's College. Washington had agreed to this request, offering to continue Alexander's allowance through the year in exchange for one weekend of writing form letters and organizing files enough to last Washington through the next few months at the very least.

Now granted more free time, Alexander joined King's College Volunteers as the fighting drew closer and closer to the campus. A few students - such as Aaron Burr - left school to immediately join the fight. Alexander was not so hasty. He still maintained the hope that Hanover's conservative, red-coat government would step down, giving way to the Continental Congress in a peaceful, democratic manner.

That hope grew minuscule one particular Friday night.

Robbie and Alexander were attending a rally with the other Volunteers when things suddenly took a riotous turn. Someone was burning Samuel Seabury's article in the newspaper. Someone else loudly reminded the crowd that the local Dr. Myles Cooper was close acquaintances with Samuel Seabury. A third person suggested that they venture over to King's College and put Dr. Cooper's head on a silver plate.

"Bet he's still in that high tower of his!" Someone crowed from the back of the crowd. "Someone ought to bring him down a notch, make him sink to our level!"

"Or at least make him a head shorter." Another agreed.

Weapons were quickly gathered.

" _Shit_ ," Alexander quickly took inventory of the scene. Some of the Volunteers had joined the mob - they appeared willing to persecute their headmaster for the sake of the revolution. Cars were being overturned, stores were being looted, and the shrieks and screams were deafening. Alexander grabbed Robbie's arm and pulled him off into an alley. It wasn't isolated enough to escape the screams and the flicker of fire, but it was enough for Robbie to hear Alexander. Kind of.

"We have to warn Dr. Cooper."

"We'll get killed." Robbie protested.

"Maybe." Alexander agreed. "But isn't that what we're all fighting for, anyway? A nation free from prejudice and persecution? Killing Dr. Cooper because he supports President Hanover is no less appalling than the redcoats slaughtering anyone who doesn't support President Hanover."

"Can we outrun them?" Robbie asked cynically.

"You can't." Alexander cracked a small smile. "But if you stall them for just a few seconds, I might be able to get to him in time. I've got to at least try. Think you can hold them back, maybe suggest a speech or two? Mulligan is around here somewhere; I'm sure he'll help you out."

Robbie didn't look convinced, but he nodded his head and disappeared into the crowd anyway. Perhaps one of Robbie's best features was his ignorance to cowardice. He simply did not understand that acting - or refusing to act - out of fear was an option.

But Alexander didn't have time to think over his roommates' superior qualities. He had to save his headmaster, even if the man was a rabid conservative.

He took off running through the streets, slipping through alleys and climbing over fences in an attempt to go unnoticed by the rioters progressing through the streets. If they saw him running to Dr. Cooper's aid, they might turn against him, too.

His lungs ached as he sucked in breath after breath of frigid air. His chapped lips began to bleed. Wind whipped around him, stinging every inch of skin that Alexander had left exposed to the elements. His ears were burning. His eyes were watering. It took every bit of strength left in Alexander's body to launch himself up the stairs and through the door into Dr. Cooper's office.

"Mr. Hamilton." Dr. Cooper looked affronted. "What is the meaning of -"

"The rebels, sir." Alexander choked out. His voice did not sound like his voice. It sounded more like the voice of an 80 year-old woman who had spent the majority of her adult life chain-smoking cigarettes. "They're coming here. For you."

Dr. Cooper jolted. His eyes were about the size of dinner plates. There were screams outside of the building. They didn't have much time.

"I'll hold them off as long as I can." Alexander promised. Dr. Cooper just stared at him stupidly.

Alexander didn't have time for this. He grabbed Dr. Cooper's absurdly expensive briefcase off of the chair and shoved it into Dr. Cooper's arms.

" _Go_." He commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With that, Alexander abandoned the office. He stood at the top of the stairs leading to Dr. Cooper's office and waited. He could hear the crowds screaming, he could see the dust falling from the ceiling as each accessible door was knocked down, and he could feel his heart hammering against his ribcage. Boy, he was going to have to sleep in the next morning to recover from this.

Finally, the mob made its way to the bottom of the staircase. They only briefly paused when they saw Alexander standing at the top of the staircase. That was all the time he needed.

"Stop." His voice was less commanding than it had been in Dr. Cooper's office, but it would do. He gathered up his courage as he continued. "Do you really think that slaughtering this man will make Hanover reconsider what he's doing to the country? Do you think that he'll see this display of violence as a voice of reason to take seriously? This conduct, this mob, is a disgrace to every ideal that true revolutionaries hold. If we're to start a new nation, we must do it with dignity. This is not dignity. This is systematic persecution. This makes us no better than Hanover and his cronies. This only serves to injure the glorious cause of liberty."

The mob stood there for a moment, weighing his words. From the gaggle, Robbie emerged. He climbed the stairs to stand next to Alexander. He had a black eye. Alexander pretended not to notice.

"I agree." He said. His voice was much more mild than Alexander's.

There were murmurs in the crowd. Many people shifted their weight from foot to foot awkwardly.

"Well, I still think we should kill 'im!" Someone roared. Everyone looked around for the source. A few others chimed in their agreement.

Alexander and Robbie looked at each other, the meaning of the exchange clear: _Shit_. It was becoming a recurring theme to the evening.

They ran into Dr. Cooper's office as the mob raced up the stairs. Dr. Cooper was gone. Well, he was out of sight. Alexander assumed that he was gone. Neither he nor Robbie took too much time to check around the office. Instead, they raced for the open window of Dr. Cooper's office. It was two stories high, overlooking the small pond where student picnics were sometimes held. Alexander and Robbie exchanged one last look before climbing onto the windowsill and jumping. The mob continued to scream and shout from Dr. Cooper's office.

The water in the pond was freezing. It was bitterly cold and pitch black and it took every bit of strength left in Alexander to break the surface again. He hadn't realized how tired he was until this moment - the worst possible moment to realize that he was far too tired to swim the length of the pond and drag himself back up onto land. His clothes were weighing him down. His shoes felt like lead tied to his feet. His lungs were at least 60% filled with water, probably. He coughed and spluttered and floundered to keep his head above water.

"Hamilton!" Robbie swam over to him, spitting out water as he proceeded.

"Troup." Alexander tried to smile. Judging from the look on Robbie's face, it was not an overwhelmingly convincing smile.

"We gotta get out of here, man." Robbie told him, as if Alexander didn't know. "We're going to get frostbite if we hang around for too long. Come on. Can you swim?"

Though Alexander was frequently criticized for being too proud, it should be noted that his pride was the only reason he survived that night. He was much too proud to admit to Robbie that he was exhausted. He was already shorter than all of the other boys; he was already teased for being too frail and falling ill too often. He would not be ridiculed for this, too.

"Yes." He resolved, gritting his teeth and forcing his agonizing muscles to obey him.

The boys swam to the side and clambered out of the pond into the crisp air. They shuddered violently as the wind whipped around them. They hustled back to the dorms, where boys were running through the halls and looking out the windows, curious to know more about the presence of the mobs.

"Hamilton, Troup," Aaron was sprawled out on a couch in the lounge, apparently unconcerned with his surroundings. "You two look like hell. Where've you been?"

"Saving Dr. Cooper's life." Alexander snapped back. "I really don't have time for you, Burr."

"I see." Aaron didn't seem too stung by Alexander's comment. He just took a sip of his coffee and returned his attention to the book in his lap.

Alexander and Robbie hurried to their dorm room door, both of them stopping short right in front of it. Alexander looked at Robbie expectantly. Robbie looked back at Alexander expectantly. When nothing happened, Alexander let just one ounce of his pride go.

"Open the door, Troup. I don't have my key."

Robbie's eyes widened. "What do you mean, you don't have your key? I asked you if you had your key before we left!"

Alexander sighed. "You know I never have my key. Can you please just open the door? I need to get out of these clothes."

"My key is at the bottom of my lake." Robbie growled, the effect of his anger ruined by his chattering teeth.

"What?" Alexander demanded, aghast.

The sound of jingling keys drew both boys' attention away from their dispute. They glanced in the direction of the sound; the end of the hallway. Leaning against the wall with a huge smirk and a key twirling around his finger was Aaron Burr.

"Trouble?" He asked, arching an eyebrow.

* * *

"Thanks for letting us borrow some clothes, Burr." Robbie said as he pulled one of Aaron's expensive sweaters over his head, shuddering at the unfamiliar warmth.

Alexander remained silent, using the towel that Aaron had provided to dry off his hair. He let the towel hang from his bare shoulders as Aaron spoke.

"Don't worry about it. It's the least I can do after what you did for Dr. Cooper." Aaron answered, looking mostly at Alexander. "Although, I've got to say, I'm surprised. I thought a rabid rebel like you would let the revolutionaries have him."

Alexander's eyes narrowed as he reached for the sweater Aaron had laid out for him. "They weren't revolutionaries, they were a mob. Besides, wanting the government to change and wanting all Hanover supporters to die are two completely separate things."

"I can respect that." Aaron said, his smile not faltering.

"Then why weren't you there?" Alexander asked with a challenging smile of his own. He didn't dislike Aaron - that wasn't the right word. He just felt that he perpetually had to prove himself to Aaron. And that was infuriating.

Aaron didn't seem to mind. "I had a late class. Besides, rallies like those…they so rarely maintain their innocent intentions. I suspected it might progress into something violent. I couldn't be seen at a mob scene. It'd ruin me."

Alexander nodded, pulling the sweater over his head wordlessly.

"Well, lucky for us that you stayed." Robbie chimed in. He was always so friendly. He didn't seem to feel the same stabbing sense of competitiveness that Alexander did. "Otherwise we might have died from hypothermia. It didn't look like anybody else was too worried about us."

"Oh, I don't know if that's true," Aaron said, amicably enough. "If the girls didn't go looking for Hamilton, General Washington would have."

* * *

Shortly after the Dr. Cooper debacle - just long enough to allow Alexander time to recover, not long enough to allow the school to settle down - Alexander found himself being called on by the King's College Volunteers.

The redcoats had overwhelmed the coastline of New York, leaving the rebels helpless. Cannons had been left in the midst of the retreat; if they were not recovered, the redcoats would capture them. The rebel army did not have the money to afford new cannons. The King's College Volunteers therefore took it upon themselves to recover the cannons. Alexander Hamilton made sure that he was leading the charge, proudly brandishing the new gun that all of the Volunteers had been furnished with.

Hercules Mulligan was there, too. He'd seen Alexander and Robbie running past the tailor shop and had run out after them, eager to help. He haphazardly locked the shop behind him.

"How many cannons are there?" Hercules asked over the din of the clashing patriots and redcoats. Tear gas flooded the air. Gunshots rang out overheard. Hercules and Alexander shielded their eyes with their hands and avoided drawing attention to themselves as they made their way to the cannons.

"About ten." Alexander answered, scouring the scene for any signs of cannons. There were so many people, the smoke was so thick, and there was little to no lighting.

"I think I see one." Hercules tapped Alexander's shoulder to catch his attention. Alexander squinted his eyes and waited for another gunshot to illuminate the thick cloud of smoke surrounding them. Once that gunshot occurred, the cannon presented itself. It was surrounded by redcoats and patriots alike. A pool of blood had accumulated just beneath it.

Alexander nodded to himself. He turned to Hercules and held out his gun. "Hold this."

"Hammie, no. Let me take the cannon. You're -" Hercules didn't need to finish his sentence. Alexander was so much shorter, so much lighter than Hercules. He was still recovering from his late-night swim in the pond of King's College. His asthma was flaring up as smoke engulfed him. It was obvious that Hercules should be the one to pull the cannon back to campus. But Alexander Hamilton was a proud man, and damn, if that didn't put him in a difficult situation.

So he handed Hercules his gun without another word and took hold of the rope attached to the cannon. As he dragged the cannon away from the redcoats, he quickly lost sight of Hercules in the smog and the chaos. He didn't let that bother him. He just remained focus on the task at hand: dragging the heaviest collection of metal in the world three miles to campus.

Bullets whizzed around his ears as he pulled the cannon towards King's College. Alexander didn't so much as flinch. As far as he was concerned, he was in a win-win situation. If he was shot, he wouldn't have to work nearly as hard to rise up in society - he would simply die a martyr. If he survived, he would be a hero. More or less.

"Hamilton!" As Alexander dragged the cannon out of the thick of the fight, Robbie suddenly materialized. He rushed around towards the back of the cannon to give it a push. It improved the strain significantly. With Robbie's help, it only took Alexander another fifteen minutes to move the cannon the rest of the way. Once he did, he was surprised to see Hercules standing with another cannon nearby, a rope slung over his shoulder.

"Mull," Alexander croaked, his voice cracking due to the smog that he'd swallowed in the city. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Not quite." Hercules said, his voice unaffected by the smog. He smiled apologetically. "Although…I might've lost track of your gun."

"What do you mean?" Alexander asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Look, someone asked me to take this cannon. I didn't want to stick the gun in my back pocket because with my luck, I'd shoot my stupid ass off the moment I tried. So I just put it down next to the cannons. I'm real sorry, Hammie."

Alexander looked from Hercules to the cloud of smoke containing the fighting. In a split second, he made up his mind.

"Don't worry about it." He said calmly. Without another word, he turned around and walked right back into the war zone. It was no better than it had been fifteen minutes prior. The smoke choked Alexander. It stung his eyes, too. Bullets pierced everything surrounding him, but somehow never struck him. Not once. Alexander didn't think much of it. He just walked through the fighting in search of his missing gun.

And, he had to hand it to Hercules, the gun was exactly where Hercules said he'd left it. Alexander ducked down, narrowly missing a bullet that clipped the hairs on the top of his head, and scooped the gun up. Having secured the one valuable thing he owned, he shuffled out of the war zone as best he could. It was nothing short of a miracle when he made it just beyond the smog without a scratch.

"Hammie." Hercules seemed to melt with relief when he caught sight of Alexander. Alexander just grinned back at him, fighting the urge to cough up half of the smoke he'd swallowed.

"Found it." He gestured towards his gun proudly.

Hercules laughed, shaking his head. "Son of a bitch. You could have gotten yourself killed, you know."

"Ah." Alexander shrugged. "There are worse things."

"Guys!" Robbie's voice interrupted their conversation. Alexander and Hercules turned around to see what was going on. It wasn't hard to identify the cause of Robbie's panic - Rivington's building was on fire.

Rivington was a pro-Hanover publisher. He owned a newspaper that was often defending the terrible things that Hanover was always caught on camera saying. It seemed that today, he was reaping what he sowed. Rebels were torching and looting the building.

"No," Alexander was getting frustrated with this mob mentality surrounding the revolution.

"Hey!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, approaching the building. "Knock it off!"

Some men turned to look at him. They towered over him, their threats unspoken but very powerful. Hercules stepped forward, eying the men carefully. Robbie stood in the background uncertainly.

"What did you say?" One of the men asked, looking Alexander over critically. It was clear that he was confused by Alexander's presence. He obviously wasn't one of the overentitled Hanover supporters. His clothes were ratty, his face was smudged with grease, and he was standing near King's College campus, where all of the rebels were gathering. At this point, it was the only thing keeping the men from attacking him. Alexander was perfectly aware of this.

"I said knock it off." Alexander repeated. "Rivington didn't do anything to you."

"He's with them," The man gestured back towards the fighting. As he spoke, bullets chipped away at the now burning building.

"So what?" Alexander demanded. "There's no honor in this. You've got to see that. Rivington isn't out here fighting anyone. He's not supplying anyone with weapons. He's probably at home with his family. He's probably afraid. We're all entitled to our opinions, sir. It's how we handle them that makes us villains."

The man looked Alexander over one last time before dismissing him outright. He turned around and returned to his friends. One of the men threw one last match onto the growing fire before walking down the street in the direction of the fighting.

Alexander looked at the building for a moment, attempting to concoct a plan.

"Alexander, no." Hercules put a hand on Alexander's shoulder, applying just enough pressure to try to steer him back in the direction of King's College.

Alexander continued to look around for something to put out the fire with.

"Hammie," Hercules pleaded. "The fire department'll take care of Rivington's. We have to get back."

"Someone might take the cannons." Robbie contributed.

"C'mon, Hammie." Hercules could tell that Alexander's resolve was weakening as the flames were growing. He was so tired. He was so, so tired. His lungs ached, his eyes stung, his ears were burning from the cold, and every muscle in his body was urging him to just lie down.

"Okay," Alexander agreed reluctantly. "Let's go check on the cannons."

* * *

By April 6, King's College had been commandeered to be used as a hospital for the rebels. All Hanover supporters left the school. Students sympathetic to the rebel cause were allowed to remain while they found alternate arrangements. Now eighteen, Alexander was too old to be considered a foster child. The Stevens most likely would not allow him to return; the revolution limited the amount of available goods, making money tight in most households. Even if Mrs. Stevens didn't harbor such an immense dislike for Alexander, Mr. Stevens was a reasonable enough man that he would soon come to the conclusion that he could not afford another mouth to feed.

Alexander Hamilton was only left with the small allowance that George Washington had left him before going off to war. That allowance would not support him through these times alone.

So, in dire need of money and in moderate need of glory, Alexander did the most sensible thing that he could think of. He dropped out of school to join the military.

* * *

 **Happy Friday! I hope everyone had an enjoyable Thursday, whether you celebrate Thanksgiving or not. And since today is Black Friday for most of us, here is an important message endorsed by my fictionalized modern-day Hamilton: BE NICE TO ANY RETAIL EMPLOYEES YOU SEE WORKING TODAY! THEY ARE MISERABLE AND ARE NOT LIKELY TO RECEIVE MUCH KINDNESS IN RETURN FOR THE SERVICE THEY'RE PROVIDING!**

 **But more in the context of this story - the fighting starts next week. Who's excited? I would say that I am, but I've already started the writing for that, so I don't have to endure the anticipation. I just have to pause for a few minutes every Friday to edit and post a chapter I've already written. So far, I can tell you that things only get more interesting as time goes on.**

 **And if you're worried that characters are zipping in and out of the story - such as Lafayette and Washington - well, stop worrying. That's how the war was. You saw someone when you saw them. Both Lafayette and Washington will show up again. And Laurens, of course. And basically everyone that hasn't yet been pronounced dead.**

 **So enjoy the characters that are here while they're here and look forward to the characters that will appear in the future!**


	5. Chapter 5

Once in the military, Alexander was recommended for the position of Captain for a Company of Artillery. It seemed that one of his classmates had seen him dragging the cannons onto campus the night that the redcoats had arrived and had spoken to one of their higher-ups about his potential.

While waiting for the approval or denial of this recommendation, Alexander received yet another flattering invitation. Lord Stirling wanted Alexander to serve as his aide-de-camp. Though the position might have proved advantageous for the connections alone, Alexander declined. He had spent months serving as a secretary for George Washington. Now he was ready to fight.

After a few months of waiting and speculating, Alexander was finally granted the position of Captain for a Company of Artillery. There was one condition, though. He was in charge of recruiting his own men. He needed at least 30 to qualify as a captain. This posed an interesting problem, as most of Alexander's friends had since found positions of their own in the war. The only person left in the city that he knew was Hercules Mulligan. And naturally, Hercules was not going to let Alexander fail.

They canvased every school nearby. They stood outside of stores asking everyone who might be interested. They passed out flyers and set up tables. They were essentially the Girl Scouts of war; they didn't have cookies, but they had a position in Alexander's regiment wide open.

By the time they were finished, Alexander was in charge of 68 men.

Alexander undertook outfitting them all. He spared no expenses; they were given weapons, uniforms, and two sets of extra shoes. Their rations were twice the size of the surrounding regiments. He paid for all of these things with the remaining allowance that George Washington had left him. Alexander understood that morale was a key part of winning a war. He refused to let his soldiers feel inferior to the forces of George Hanover.

It was quite an expense - rendering Alexander damn near penniless - but he would have done it over again in a heart beat. These were, after all, his men. He felt obligated to care for them. The best generals in history were the ones who didn't just know military strategy, but also knew their men. While Alexander was not yet a general, he endeavored to be the best captain possible. For surely, when Washington was looking for a man to promote, he would look upon the captains and wonder who was the best.

Aaron Burr, meanwhile, appeared to be making a name for himself out in the revolution. Alexander had heard through the rumor mill that Aaron had worked by Washington's side for a while, but had quit. Aaron claimed that those less qualified than him were being promoted over him; that Washington played favorites. He was now in Canada with General Montgomery. From what Alexander understood, Aaron did not have particularly kind things to say about Washington and did not care who knew it.

Aaron had miscalculated, believing that Washington would quickly take a backburner during the revolution; that someone better, someone stronger would enter and take his place. The Battle of Bunker was about to disprove him.

Alexander and Hercules received the orders just a few short weeks before the actual battle. Hanover's forces were accumulating on the East Coast. Washington needed to make a stand, if for no other reason than to make a point and weaken their resolve. Alexander gladly committed his forces to the fight.

"Are you sure about this, Captain?" Alec "Lecky" Darrah asked as they set up their positions.

"Of course." Alexander confirmed. "General Washington wouldn't senselessly risk troops."

"Okay." Lecky nodded, appeased. "I just…you know I have to go home after the war. I've got a son, y'know. Sam. He's just a little guy right now, but I can already tell that he's got a real good head on his shoulders. Only a year old and he already knows the alphabet. Can count to ten, too."

Lecky was always telling anyone who would listen about his son. He told people who wouldn't listen, too. And he was constantly showing off pictures of the tot. Alexander could hardly blame him for fawning over his son the way he did: Lecky's wife had died just a few months prior, leaving Sam as his only family. Lecky was loathe to leave the boy, but his mother was a first generation immigrant, rendering his entire family susceptible to deportation under Hanover's reign. So Lecky had left Sam in the care of his eldest sister and had joined Alexander's regiment the moment that he had asked.

Alexander and Hercules were the only men decent enough to ask Lecky about Sam. And to their credit, they really did care. Alexander was envious of the young boy; he marveled at Lecky's devotion to his son. His father had never cared much for the burden of parenthood. And Hercules, well, Hercules just liked people.

"Don't worry, Lecky. I'll get you back to Sam, safe and sound." Alexander assured him with a small smile. Lecky smiled back shakily.

* * *

It was a nightmare. Washington's forces retreated against orders the moment they caught sight of Hanover's forces. Alexander caught sight of Washington sitting atop a horse - all modern warfare devises had become a scarcity the likes of which not even the President could afford - hitting every retreating man within his reach with his riding crop.

"Are these the men with which I am to defend America?" Washington demanded, enraged as he continued to lash at every man within reach.

Alexander watched, horrified. He knew that Washington had something of a temper - it would be impossible to work so closely with the man without knowing - but it was important that the majority did not know. Washington was supposed to be an icon of the revolution, the ideal man of the time.

"Fall back!" Washington finally commanded. It was clear that he did not want to give the order.

Washington's forces were supposed to spearhead the attack, with the artillery forces bringing up the rear. There was good reason for Washington's forces to take priority - they were the stronger men with the more valuable leader. Because of this, Alexander commanded his men to bring up the rear, protecting Washington's forces as they retreated.

As they retreated, Alexander glanced back to check on the progress of his men. In the very back was Lecky, looking terrified. Bullets grazed past him, scraping bark off of trees and punching holes into the earth. Though the rest of the men looked afraid, it was clear that only Lecky was afraid for someone other than himself. He was afraid for his boy, afraid that the war might make him an orphan.

Alexander yanked on the reigns of his horse.

"What are you doing?" Hercules yelled over the din as Alexander dashed towards the back.

"Lead the men!" Alexander shouted back, taking a position behind Lecky. Lecky turned back to look at him, panicked.

"Hey." Alexander did his best to sound reassuring in the face of such danger. "Keep going. I've got your back."

Lecky nodded, reassured. The men pressed forward in the midst of their retreat. Washington's forces cleared the border with minimal casualties. Alexander's forces were not so lucky. A handful of his men had perished on the field, but Lecky had made it through the Battle of Bunker safe and sound. He called his sister the moment that they had made it to the safety of a base camp. He let Alexander speak to Sam on the phone for a few minutes. Sam listed off the alphabet for Alexander. Alexander assured Lecky that he was very impressed.

And as for his own reward, Alexander received an honorable mention in the newspaper. The newspapers published an email that Washington had sent to the Continental Congress. In that email, Washington had thanked the "smart cannonade" that had allowed his men to escape.

Alexander couldn't help but smile to himself. Though he hadn't gotten a moment to speak to Washington himself, Washington had seen him. More than that, Washington had publicly recognized him. Alexander Hamilton had nowhere to go but up.

* * *

 **Happy Friday folks! We're embarking on a Revolution. Alexander is starting out on the field as a glamorous artillery officer, but he did just catch the eye of Washington again. We all know how that plays out...**

 **Also, YES LECKY IS FICTIONAL BUT ALEXANDER REALLY DID STAY IN THE BACK SO AS MANY OF HIS MEN COULD MAKE IT BACK TO CAMP SAFELY DURING THE RETREAT OF BUNKER. I AM SURE HE LOVED HIS MEN, BUT BIOGRAPHERS DON'T CARE ABOUT THEM SO I JUST CHARACTERIZED MY OWN. He's not a big deal. You won't see him signing the Declaration of Independence or anything crazy. Just someone to set the mood of the war.**


	6. Chapter 6

_Captain Hamilton,_

 _It is with great pleasure that I write to you about a position that has opened on my staff. I am in dire need of an aide-de-camp and immediately thought of you. Your ability to accomplish well-written responses to letters and emails is a gift that I have not yet encountered since joining the fight. I would be much obliged if you would recommend a replacement for your position before joining my company by January 10th._

 _Best regards,_

 _General G. Washington_

Alexander sighed as he re-read the email. It was clear from Washington's language that the email was not a job offer - it was an order. He did not want to spend more time serving as Washington's secretary - especially during the war - but he didn't have a chance, and besides, Washington was one of his only chances to rise up in society during the fight. It was possible that after serving as an aide-de-camp for a few months, Washington would recommend him for a far better position than a lowly artillery captain.

"Hey, Mull," Alexander walked out of his quarters and found Hercules helping Lecky patch up his tattered winter coat.

Hercules took one look at the expression on Alexander's face and told Lecky, "I'll be right back."

"Washington called me to his camp." Alexander explained grimly. "I have to go."

Hercules quirked a smile. "I can already hear sighs of relief across the regiment."

Alexander rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh. You might want to be nice to me; I'm your best chance of assuming my position."

"Is that so?" Hercules asked, folding his arms across his chest and slumping his shoulders to get a better look at Alexander.

"Yeah, if you want it. I mean, they aren't much," Alexander teased, looking around the camp. "But they're good men, and I'm sure they wouldn't respect anyone more than you."

"Well, Hammie, they're going to have to."

"What?" Alexander had not been counting on Hercules to turn him down. "What do you mean?"

"You're not the only one who got an email from Washington." Hercules answered, waving his cell phone in front of Alexander's face. "I've got to get back to the city."

"But Hanover is in the city." Alexander protested.

"Exactly." Hercules said with a wink. "I've got important intel to collect."

"What?" Alexander demanded indignantly. "You get to be a kingsman and I have to run around being Washington's secretary?"

"Apparently so. Write me a letter if you get time, Hammie." Hercules leaned down to ruffle Alexander's hair before returning to Lecky.

* * *

 _General Washington,_

 _I am very flattered by your recommendation and, of course, readily accept. In keeping with the frankness that you and I have always enjoyed, I will confess to you that I hope that my service to you may ultimately be rewarded with a command position in your army. Whether this is an acceptable proposition to you or not, I will service you in any way required._

 _As for the assumption of the command I currently occupy, I wholeheartedly recommend Alec Darrah. He is an honorable man, and is very knowledgeable in the field of artillery. He will serve the revolutionary cause excellently._

 _Always your humble servant,_

 _Alexander Hamilton_

* * *

Working for Washington was no less difficult now than it had been months earlier. Despite the commonly held belief that Washington was a level-headed, stoic, practically perfect general, Alexander knew the truth to be the exact opposite. Washington had a temper that he struggled very hard to keep under control (not always to the greatest success). He took offense very easily, responding to such offensive remarks with snide comments of his own. Perhaps worst of all, he did everything in his power to remain aloof. To Alexander, this trait was unforgivable.

Though most of the other aides insisted that Alexander was Washington's pet, he did not reap the benefits of being such. No, the closest thing to a benefit that Alexander received was Washington's tendency to refer to him as, "My boy." That was hardly the field command he was hoping for.

In fact, Washington hadn't said a single word about Alexander's request for a field command in his letter of acceptance. Every time Alexander tried to bring it up, Washington found another email for him to answer, another phone call for him to return, or another file for him to summarize. It seemed that Washington was willing to talk about anything in the world but the possibility of Alexander receiving a field command.

Well, if Washington could deny Alexander the command he so desperately wanted in an attempt to hide his favoritism, Alexander could do the same. He could pretend that Washington was nothing more than his overbearing employer. He could spend no more than the required time in Washington's quarters. He could withhold inside jokes and playful remarks. He could deny Washington the one thing that meant as much to the general as a field command meant to Alexander: friendship.

"Hamilton," McHenry, another aide, stepped into Alexander's quarters, effectively ending his train of thought.

"Yeah?" Alexander shut the laptop that he had been working on.

"Washington is asking for you." McHenry said it as though it were perfectly obvious. Surprisingly enough, none of the other aides were jealous of Washington's favoritism. It was most likely because they saw that Washington's favoritism was not getting Alexander anywhere. His special position in Washington's heart wouldn't afford him a special position in the military. Unfortunately.

"What for?" Alexander asked in an effort to behave just as aloof as Washington.

McHenry shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't ask."

"Is it urgent?" Alexander toyed with the idea of keeping Washington waiting. That would show him. That would show Washington that Alexander had things to do that were more important than catering to the every whim of the general.

"Hamilton." McHenry sighed, shaking his head. "Just c'mon."

"Fine." Alexander sulked. "But if he's giving me more emails to answer, I'm walking out. I'm trying to get something done."

"Same could be said of General Washington." McHenry reminded him as they walked through the camp.

"The difference is, I can get this thing done on my own."

"Then it must be less of a triumph than winning a war."

"You're just determined to take his side, aren't you?"

"I thought were all on the same side. Isn't that what the war is about?"

"Shut up, McHenry." Alexander rolled his eyes and left McHenry's side to enter into Washington's quarters. McHenry remained outside - no one was allowed into Washington's quarters without an express invitation. Despite being given such invitation by McHenry, Alexander still knocked on the door before walking into the office space that Washington usually occupied.

"Hamilton, my boy, come in." Washington sounded pleasant.

"Is there something that you need, General Washington?" Alexander asked, struggling to curb his impatience.

Washington turned around in his chair to look at Alexander. He was smiling. "I get the feeling that you're growing impatient with me."

"What makes you say that?" Alexander asked, not meeting Washington's eyes.

"Call it a hunch." Washington replied with an amused smile. He stood up and gestured towards one of the stiff armchairs reserved for guests. "Have a seat."

"Yes, sir." Alexander reluctantly took a seat.

"I know that you want a field command," Washington said, leaning against his desk just in front of Alexander. "I was just like you when I was younger. Chomping at the bit for the first chance to prove myself."

"Yes, sir." Alexander suddenly perked up. Maybe this was the moment that Washington would give him what was coming to him - a field command.

"Listen, son," Washington started.

Alexander ground his teeth. He hated when Washington called him 'son'.

"I know that leading a group of men, fighting Hanover's troops, and roughing it like a regular soldier sounds glamorous, but this isn't a war with an excess of men. We need to value every single man and place him where his strengths lie. Alexander, you're the best aide I've ever had. With the way the war is going at present, I just can't afford to lose you."

Alexander slumped down in his seat.

"I know this isn't what you want to hear." Washington smiled sympathetically. "But in a way, it really is a compliment. You're too good at your job. That can't be so bad, can it?"

"I guess not." Alexander grumbled. Washington chuckled.

"I figured you wouldn't see the silver lining too soon after receiving the news." Washington said. "So I found a more immediate way to resolve your disappointment. Laurens, Lafayette, come on out and say hello to Alexander."

* * *

 **Alright alright, that's what I'm talking about! Ham is with Washington and APPARENTLY Laurens and Lafayette are back - the boys are back in town! We know this can only end badly, but it'll be exciting in the meantime. Happy Friday everyone!**


	7. Chapter 7

Alexander looked up again in surprise. The moment Washington mentioned their names, John and Lafayette tumbled through the door into the office. John was grinning as widely as he could with a cigarette hanging from his lips. Lafayette was a little more reserved; he was smiling, but waiting patiently for Washington to allow him to speak, it seemed.

"Laurens, Lafayette…what are you doing here?" Alexander asked excitedly.

"General Washington found more openings in his camp." John explained, sitting on the arm of Alexander's chair. He looked Alexander over excitedly, like Alexander was hiding Christmas presents on his person. Lafayette sat down in the chair next to Alexander, a respectful distance away.

It was then that Alexander remembered that he was supposed to be remaining aloof around Washington. He stiffened his posture a little bit and glanced in the direction of the general. Washington just smiled knowingly, infuriatingly unaware of Alexander's attempts to withhold friendship.

"I would leave you boys alone, but this is my office and I still have a lot of work to get done." He said with a laugh.

"Yes, sir," John laughed. Even with the general, he seemed perfectly at ease. "We'll go crowd Hammie's quarters."

"Before you do," Washington interjected as they walked towards the door. "I've got another compromise for you, Alexander. I don't know if you remember the Schuylkill mission I had you put together."

"Yes, sir." Alexander frowned. It would be just like Washington to assign him additional work the moment that his friends arrived at camp.

"I want you to go with Captain Lee. Laurens and Lafayette can man the phones while you're gone."

Alexander's heart leapt up his throat. "Really?"

Washington smiled. "Really."

"Alright, Hammie." John clapped Alexander on the back. "A mission from General Washington! Let's just hope you don't screw it up."

"Don't listen to 'im," Lafayette crooned, putting his arm around Alexander's shoulders as they left Washington's office. "'e is just teasing."

* * *

"So, Laurens, Lafayette," Alexander plopped down on his couch, unable to keep a smile off of his face. "Where are you guys staying?"

"Right now? At the hostel down the road," John answered, jerking his thumb in the general direction of the hostel.

Alexander furrowed his eyebrows and looked over at Lafayette.

"I 'ave my quarters already. But zey are much too small for anyone more than myself." Lafayette added.

"Well," Alexander looked around his own quarters. "Why don't you stay with me, Laurens? I've got plenty of space here. It'd be much more comfortable than staying in the hostel until Washington finds a space for you."

John scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. "No can do, Hammie. I've got Martha and Frances with me."

Alexander tried to regulate his facial expression without much luck. His heart dropped to his toes and it was plain to see.

Martha was John's ex-girlfriend. Before Alexander had even met John, Martha had given John the time-stopping news that she was pregnant. John's father had tried to pressure John into proposing, but John resisted with every ounce of his stubborn nature; he and Martha had only been on a handful of dates. Neither of them were in love. In fact, they had broken up before Martha even knew that she was pregnant. So John had made a different proposition all together: Martha would be his roommate - reaping the benefits of John's luxury housing situation - and John would get to maintain a permanent position in their daughter, Frances' life.

"You brought them with you?" Alexander asked, struggling to maintain an air of normalcy.

"I had to, Hammie." John's tone pleaded for Alexander to understand. "Frankie is my daughter and Martha is her mother. You know there's nothing between me and Martha. We're just good friends. But I couldn't leave Frankie in the city when Hanover's forces were taking over."

"Well," Alexander sighed. "Then why don't you bring Martha and Frances here, too?"

"Hammie." John shook his head. "It's okay. You don't have to do this."

"I know." Alexander insisted. "But I want to. You can't raise a kid in a hostel. Besides, I've got a lot of spare room here. I'm sure Martha and Frances'll be more comfortable here."

"You're sure?" John asked suspiciously. "You don't need to feel obligated."

"And I don't." Alexander finally managed to sound nonchalant. "I can help you all move in this weekend."

* * *

While John and his family were moving into Alexander's quarters, Alexander set off with Captain Lee towards Schuylkill. Washington had had Alexander orchestrate the entire mission to the extent that Alexander could have led it himself. Still, he let Lee pretend that he was in charge. He listened patiently as Lee outlined the plan to burn down the flour mill before Hanover's forces got the supplies. He bit his tongue when Lee answered questions that Alexander could have easily answered better.

"Now listen, Hamilton." Lee said for what may have been the tenth time. "When I give you the signal, you have to get out of there."

"Yes, sir." The words left a sour taste in Alexander's mouth.

So, with Lee sitting safely in the background, Alexander and the other men crawled towards the Schuylkill flour mill. They could hear Hanover's forces in the distance. The sounds of cannons and bullets crowded the air. Alexander lit a match and bunch up hay underneath the flour mill's foundation.

Just as they were fanning the flame - which was now taller than Alexander by a whole foot, Lee called out. "Redcoats!"

"Boys, head for the boat!" Alexander howled, quickly forgetting that he was not in command. But the rest of the men looked terrified and Lee was too far away to give a decent command. So Alexander herded them all towards the small row boat that Lee had set up in the river. Washington's camp was just a few miles north of the other side of the lake.

All of the men piled into the boat. Alexander pushed off from the shore into the knocking waves. Wind whipped around them as the men struggled to row the boat away from the coast. The redcoats were now surrounding the bonfire that had formerly been Schuylkill. They were firing their guns in the direction of the boat; by and large, the bullets skimmed the water. A few bullets chipped away pieces of the boat.

"Hamilton." McHenry shouted over the roaring waves. "Where is Lee? We need help. We're going to drown if he doesn't -"

Just as Alexander was looking around for any sign of Lee - who had remained on the coast to escape the clutches of the redcoats - a bullet pierced the underside of the boat. Water quickly began to fill the boat, causing all of the young men to jump up from their relatively secure positions. The rapid movement doubled with the flooding boat caused a few men to fall overboard into the water. As Alexander looked down into the panicked faces of his comrades, he made a decision.

"Boys!" He hollered in the same tone that he had heard Washington use countless times. A dozen scared faces looked to him. "Take to the water and swim north. We're just a few miles out from camp. Pace yourself and do not look around for anyone else. Make sure that _you_ get to camp safely. Do not worry about anyone else."

Having finished his speech, Alexander dove straight into the water. He knew that the men would not jump until he did. Sure enough, as he began to struggle towards the other shore, the other men splashed into the water around him.

He could hear their coughs and their floundering as they swam towards safety. A few men called out to friends they could not see. Alexander did not take the time to think about the men that might already be missing. He had to follow his own advice. He had to focus on his own safety before helping anyone else.

But Alexander was such a slow swimmer compared to everyone else. He watched at least half of his men clamber onto the shore and run in the direction of the camp. He could no longer hear the sloshing of men swimming around him. He could only hear the waves clapping against each other and his single, futile, strokes as he made his way to the shore.

His muscles ached as he drew closer to the shore. The closer he got, the more tempted he became to give up. He was exhausted and the rest of the men (at least, the surviving ones) were most likely already at camp. At the very least, they were miles ahead of them. It seemed like hours since they had reached the shore.

But he was Alexander Hamilton. For better of worse, he was too proud to quit. Even if there was no way for anyone to possibly know that he had given up.

So he did what he had done hundreds of times before and what he would do hundreds of times afterwards: he kept on swimming.

Even though it took him a couple more hours than the rest of the men, Alexander made his way to shore and scrambled back onto land. Once there, he afforded himself a few minutes to lay on the shore, catching his breath and gathering enough strength to stand up again. Well, he thought it was a few minutes. It was really closer to an hour. Time flies when you're recovering from a strength-sapping swim.

At any rate, he finally managed to struggle to his feet and project himself forward. The sun began to set behind him as he wandered towards the camp. He didn't let that bother him. He tried his best to ignore his shuddering shoulders and chattering teeth as he trudged on.

It was mid-day of the day after the Schuylkill mission when Alexander finally dragged himself into camp. He had walked all through the night and through the morning. He was starving. His clothes were still damp from the day before. He was just shy of frostbitten. He was in no mood to deal with the banalities of his job just yet.

As he pushed open the door to his quarters, he was immediately greeted by the presence of John, Lafayette, Washington, and Lee. Washington had his arm around John's shoulder, his head ducked down to get a better view of John's face. It looked as though he were consoling John, for some unfathomable reason. John's shoulders were slumped. His head was in his hands. Lafayette was staring off to the side, his expression unreadable. Lee was fidgeting in the corner of the living room, looking as though he wished he were anywhere else. Alexander felt similarly. He wished that Lee were anywhere else, too.

"Your excellency, sir?" He said, focusing his attention on Washington. Washington generally was not one to encroach on his space. His time, sure, but never his space.

Everyone slowly turned to look at Alexander. All of them looked as though they had seen a ghost.

"Hamilton?" Washington spoke first. He removed his arm from John's shoulder and stood up. He walked towards Alexander slowly, staring at him in disbelief. "Hamilton, my boy! We thought you were dead!"

"Thought or hoped?" Alexander asked, trying his best to smile at his own joke.

Washington laughed so hard he cried. He'd tell you otherwise - he wasn't a big fan of showing emotions - but he did. Alexander didn't care. He wouldn't tell anybody about it, either. It was the kind of moment that he wanted to keep all for himself. The sound of Washington's deep laugh, the dazed smile on John's flushed face, the way Lafayette kept repeating, "You smug bastert." in that French accent, and the sight of Lee leaving Alexander's quarters with a borderline disappointed look on his face…it was well worth the day's walk in damp clothes and freezing winds.

* * *

 **Happy Friday folks! With this installment of A Modern Day Revolution, I have some exciting news. There will be TWO holiday surprises come next Friday! In the interest of building suspense, I'll only tell you all about the surprise that you wouldn't know about otherwise - with my free month between semesters at law school, I'm starting a history blog! The Founding Fathers (as well as important women like Dolly Madison and Angelica Schuyler) will be the feature this month. I've already got Alexander Hamilton's entry [mostly] finished and am working on George and Martha Washington's now.**

 **I'll begin publishing on December 24th. The link can be found at the bottom of the next chapter of A Modern Day Revolution. Until such time, you can all let me know if there's any info you'd love to see on the blog, or if there's anybody you think should most definitely NOT be excluded.**

 **Happy Reading!~**


	8. Chapter 8

"But sir!" Alexander protested, following Washington from his office into the lounge of his quarters. "Gates doesn't have enough forces to protect Saratoga! I could lead a small group of men, give him support in the northwest squadron -"

"For the last time Hamilton: _No_." Washington said firmly.

"Why not?" Alexander demanded.

Washington sighed before stopping short. He looked around before pulling Alexander to the side, where no one could overhear his words. Alexander yanked his elbow out of Washington's grasp sullenly. Washington didn't seem bothered by it. His stern expression remained firmly in place.

"Son, I nearly lost you last week. Lee told us that you were dead. I can't send you out on another mission so soon. Even if I could do without your services for a week, nobody in the camp has healed from your last escapade." The general explained as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Alexander frowned.

"The camp, or you?" He asked pettily.

" _Both_." Washington replied forcefully. "This is the last I expect to hear about Saratoga from you."

"Sir, with all due respect, you're making a mistake." Alexander persisted.

"I think I'll be able to live with the regret." Washington began to walk away, in the direction of Lee's office. Alexander followed after him, hell-bent on getting his way.

"But what if -"

"I'll deal with any 'if' when it actually happens." Washington didn't even look up from the clipboard full of secret documents that were apparently more interesting than Alexander's social status.

"Why should you have to, when you could just offset it? Sir, if you send me; if you let me have a command, I could -"

"Go to town."

"Sir?" Alexander finally stopped chasing after the general.

Washington took three more steps before realizing that Alexander was no longer at his heels. He sighed and looked up from the clipboard.

"Go to town. I was going to send McHenry, but if it'll get you out of my hair, you can go instead. Go around and see what supplies you can get people to donate. Issue receipts, if it's not too much trouble. I like to think that the Continental Congress will reimburse them when this is all over."

Alexander weighed his options. "What are the chances of you sending me to Saratoga?"

"Slim to none." Washington grumbled, returning his attention to the clipboard.

"If you need me, I'll be in town."

* * *

While Alexander was walking through the cobbled streets of Pennsylvania, General Gates was leading his troops to victory in Saratoga. Though Alexander's cell reception was terrible and no one was giving him any updates, he just knew that the strategy would be a success. He'd helped Washington concoct the entire operation. Unless Gates went out of his way to sabotage the battle, it would be a strong success for the rebels.

As he wrote out hundreds of receipts for horses, blankets, jackets, shoes, and food, Gates was leading his troops to victory. He was solidifying his place in history while Alexander was writing IOU's. It just plain wasn't fair.

Washington knew that he wasn't happy, too. He saw the look on Alexander's face when he returned from town and immediately locked himself away in his quarters. McHenry informed Alexander that Washington had given orders that he was not to be disturbed. Alexander could tell from the look on McHenry's face that Washington had given him orders that he was not to be disturbed by Alexander.

So Alexander stormed into his own quarters. He ignored Martha, who was whipping up a nutritious meal of mac and cheese and dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets for Frances. She ignored him back. Their coexistence worked better when they ignored each other. While ignoring Martha, Alexander stormed into his den, where John could almost always be found chain smoking cigarettes and pouring over one of Alexander's many annotated textbooks.

Sure enough, there he was. Alexander plopped down in the chair across from John and waited for him to ask what was wrong.

Never one to shy away from a challenge, John obliged. "So how was town?"

Alexander sighed loudly. "I should be in Saratoga."

"Ah," John didn't look up from the book. "That good, huh?"

"If I were anyone else, Washington would have sent me without any issue."

"He likes you."

"If this is what happens when Washington likes me, I wish he'd like someone else instead."

John finally closed the book. "You don't mean that."

"Yes I do." Alexander argued. "I never asked Washington to treat me like a child. I didn't enroll in the military to be babysat."

"He just worries about you, Hammie. Last time he let you tag along with Lee, you just about died."

"But I _didn't_." Alexander reminded him. Nobody seemed to remember that he hadn't actually died during the Schuylkill mission. "And even if I had, what's it to him? It's not like I'm his son. I'm just another soldier on the field to him."

"That's not true." John reminded him in a borderline bored tone, stubbing out his cigarette.

"Yes it is!" Alexander only grew more stubborn as John spoke more rationally. "No matter what he thinks, or what twisted perception of me he has, I am just a soldier in the field. I'm not his son, and I never will be. Good thing, too. I can't think of anyone I'd pity more than George Washington's son."

"Okay, Hamilton." John had lost his patience. "You really want to be just another solider instead of the apple of Washington's eye? Then act like every other soldier here. Act like a goddamn professional. Shut up and take your orders. Do you see anyone else in camp running around whining because they don't like their orders? Of course not. That's not what regular soldiers do. That's what spoiled brats do."

The two men stared at each other for a few seconds. Alexander's pride was wounded, but it was clear that John would not back down. He wasn't angry, but he wasn't sympathetic either. He was the only person in the entire camp that could knock Alexander down a peg or two without being cut out from Alexander's social life on the spot and he knew it. They both knew it.

"You're a real asshole, you know that?" Alexander finally asked, slumping in his seat. That was Alexander's way of apologizing.

"So I've heard." John smirked, placing another cigarette between his lips. That was John's way of accepting Alexander's apology.

Alexander looked around the room, frowning. He didn't know what to talk about other than Saratoga. His skin crawled, his limbs twitched. He was aching to do something other than sit idly by when there was glory to claim. But Alexander knew John, and he knew that John was at his limit when it came to Alexander's complaints.

"What are you reading?" He asked instead, ducking down to get a better look at the cover of the textbook.

* * *

"Hamilton." Alexander awoke to the sound of his name. He cracked open one eye and saw McHenry standing at the foot of the bed. He groaned and shut his eyes again. He rolled over onto his side, nearer to side of the bed where John was pretending to be asleep.

"Go away." Alexander grumbled.

"Get your lazy ass out of bed." McHenry insisted, yanking the quilt off of the two of them.

"Hey!" John stopped pretending. He blindly reached for the quilt. "It's Hammie that you want - why are you punishing me?"

"Guilt by association." McHenry deadpanned. "C'mon, Hamilton. Get out of bed. The general wants to see you."

"What does he want with me?" Alexander asked grumpily, sitting up. McHenry released the quilt as Alexander rubbed his eyes. John snatched it back and turned on his side, his back facing Alexander and McHenry.

"He's got a job for you," McHenry answered, handing Alexander his jacket and hat. Alexander accepted them groggily. McHenry glanced at John pointedly, a smirk playing on his ruddy face. "That is what you're here for, isn't it?"

Alexander sighed heavily. He hoisted himself out of bed without another word, following McHenry towards Washington's quarters.

It was still dark outside. Alexander turned back to look at McHenry as they walked through the grass, still wet with morning dew. His look was accusatory. He could not understand what was so important that Washington would drag him out of his nice, warm bed. Surely whatever job he had for Alexander could have waited for the sun to rise.

Alexander knocked on the door of Washington's quarters.

"Hamilton, my boy," Washington sounded happy. "Come in, come in."

McHenry started to follow Alexander into the quarters, but Washington cast him a stern look almost immediately. "James, remain outside. Keep visitors entertained until I'm through with Alexander."

"Through with me?" Alexander echoed as the door closed behind McHenry. "Am I in trouble, sir?"

"No," Washington was in a good mood. Alexander hadn't seen him smile so much since his wife had last visited camp. In Martha's absence, Washington was usually all frowns and orders. "No, Alexander, you're not in trouble. My boy, Saratoga was a success."

Alexander could not help but frown. Washington knew that he wanted to go to Saratoga. Did he wake Alexander up just so he could brag about its success anyway? Had he suddenly grown intolerant of Alexander's admittedly childish plot to withhold friendship until he received a commission?

"Sir?" Alexander asked, his voice strained as he struggled to control his temper.

"My boy, I want you to go to Saratoga." Washington said. Alexander's ears pricked up.

"Sir?" He asked again, his tone changing the meaning of the word.

"Gates had a decisive victory; he has the British on the run." Washington explained, pacing about the room, his stare thoughtful. "He doesn't need the bulk of our troops anymore. I want you to go to Saratoga and tell him that. Now that the North has been secured, we must protect our less secured land."

"You want me to carry that message to General Gates?" Alexander asked incredulously. Gates was now a renowned general who had just won a spectacular victory for the rebels. Sending a mere aide de camp to demand the return of troops was unprecedented. Alexander loved setting precedents.

"Yes I do." Washington clarified. "Alexander, do you know why you are so unequivocally essential to the smooth operation of my camp?"

"No, sir."

"You are the only man here who knows how to use my voice just as well as his own. In my absence, I trust you to continue acting in my best interest, not yours." Washington answered, pausing to look at Alexander. Alexander stared back at him, flattered by his explanation. Washington smiled before resuming his pacing. "I can't be there to coach you through this transaction. Gates has gained esteem - he will not surrender his men easily. You will need to navigate a very difficult situation. You will need to use my voice without overstepping your bounds as an aide. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have any questions of your own?"

"No, sir."

Washington laughed. "I didn't think so. Okay, Alexander. Pack your bags and set for Saratoga as quickly as possible."

* * *

"No."

"General Gates," Alexander chased after Gates, who had thrown Washington's letter on the ground and begun to walk back in the direction of his quarters. It was obvious that he did not plan on taking Alexander seriously. "This is an order from General Washington - our commanding officer."

"Washington doesn't know what he's talking about," Gates said over his shoulder. "I need my men. How else are we going to keep Saratoga?"

"No one is going to bother Saratoga so shortly after the battle. Do you understand the perilous position that the rest of us face just south of here? We half a quarter of the men you have and the British swarm around like sharks in the water every day. We are in danger of losing more territory if you do not supply us with men." Alexander said firmly.

"If Washington wants to command my men, he can come up here and tell me so himself." Gates snapped.

"Washington is a little busy." Alexander reminded him matter-of-factly.

"So am I. You don't see me sending teenaged aides to pester Washington."

"I'm twenty-one."

"Oh, my apologies. You're certainly a man at twenty-one."

"If your quarrel is with me, that is fine." Alexander walked right into Gates' quarters. Gates turned to glare at the soldier guarding the door. While he was distracted, Alexander got in his face. "A lot of people have a quarrel with me. My skin is thick; it doesn't bother me. But you cannot use such a quarrel as an excuse to deprive the army. If we lose this territory, it will be a consequence of your pride. Are you really prepared to allow history to view you through that lens?"

"Washington is a fool - he should be worried about the lens through which history will view him."

"Be mindful of your words. That alone is enough to have you arrested for treason." Alexander growled.

Gates just kept going. "How are we to respect a man who cannot even leave home without bringing his wife with him? Camp is no place for a woman. What does she do - knit everyone embroidered socks and gloves?"

Alexander's anger bubbled up to his throat. He could stomach anything Gates said about Washington; Alexander had his own problems with Washington. But for Gates to insult Martha Washington was unacceptable. Martha had been nothing but kind to Alexander every since he had joined Washington's staff. It was true that she was often at camp, and when she was, she always made Alexander and the other boys dinner, offered them beds in George's quarters, and asked about small details of their lives that no one else could have possibly remembered. She was the mother that Alexander had gone so long without, and he would be damned if he was going to stand around and allow Gates to insult her.

"I'll require quarters if you do not plan to mobilize a regiment today." Alexander said stiffly. "I expect them to be ready in an hour's time."

With that, Alexander left Gates' quarters. He pushed past the soldiers standing guard at the door. They looked at him critically, but did not say a word. Now on his own, Alexander walked around camp. He watched officers running drills. He skipped rocks on the nearby pond. He left that pond when geese hissed at him, threatening to attack him if he threw another rock. He checked his cell phone several times, but reminded himself each time that he was on a top secret mission. He could not risk using his phone at this time.

He finally laid down under an oak tree to nap until his quarters were ready.

* * *

It took days for Alexander to convince Gates to hand over troops. When he did, it was with a scowl and a very long letter to Washington.

"You can take Patterson's brigade." He grumbled. "It's 600 men."

"That's less than the general requested." Alexander said.

"It's more than the general deserves."

Alexander weighed his options. It was true, the likelihood of Gates handing over more than 600 men wasn't great. It seemed far wiser to cut his losses and allow Washington to deal with Gates as he saw fit.

So he agreed to Gates' offer and returned to his quarters to pack his bags. After packing his bags, he wandered through the camp to find Patterson's brigade. He wanted to see the men that would be joining the camp. He wanted to see if he recognized any of them.

When he found them, he immediately returned to Gates' quarters.

"They're the worst ones!" He howled. "Patterson's brigade consists of the worst men in this camp. You would send your commander such mediocrity?"

"Hamilton." Gates looked up from his lunch, his eyes narrowed. "I don't believe I gave you permission to be in here."

Alexander sneered. "Then report it to Washington. In the meantime, do you mind explaining to me why you are sending the commander the worst possible brigade?"

"Who says they're the worst?"

"Everyone. I asked every soldier I found along the way. I watched as they were drilled. I observed the amount of horses and weaponry that they maintained. It's nothing. Escorting those troops to Washington would be more trouble than it is worth. You'll give me better men or more men." Alexander explained.

"I'll give you nothing of the sort." Gates argued, outraged.

"You'll do that and more if you know what's good for you and your position, General Gates." Alexander spat out the name.

Gates grabbed Alexander by the collar of his uniform and pinned him against the wall. "Listen here, you arrogant little shit -"

Alexander pushed back. He was shorter than Gates, but he puffed out his chest and tried to look much taller than he really was.

"I am leaving tomorrow. You will give me the men that General Washington has demanded of you. If you do not, you will face the court marshal on Washington's orders. Good afternoon, General Gates." Alexander bowed satirically low before storming out of Gates' quarters.

* * *

While Gates made his decision, Alexander made his way back to camp. He could not escort the men to camp - he was only an aide, he did not possess the rank to lead any men anywhere - but he did plan to tell Washington about the lack of respect shown to him by Gates. He planned to complain and undermine and manipulate until Gates lost esteem with Washington. He would destroy Gates' reputation as long as there was breath left in his body.

But first, he would stop and see Robbie.

Robbie's own camp was on Alexander's way back to Washington camp. After dealing with Gates, Alexander was in need of a friendly face or two.

"Hamilton!" Robbie was just that friendly face. He hadn't changed a bit. He was just as portly and jolly as ever. As Alexander leapt off of his horse, Robbie swept him up into a bone-crushing hug.

"Troup." Alexander laughed. "How the hell have you been? You're surviving the rations, I see. Have you actually managed to gain weight?"

Robbie smiled good-naturedly. "I don't deserve all the credit. I've found a benefactor of sorts who keeps me better fed than most."

"Is that so?" Alexander asked. Had any other man made such a proclamation, Alexander might have thought less of him, but Robbie did not have a bad bone in his body. If he was receiving extra portions from a benefactor, it was not because he had asked for them. It was far more likely that he had found a high-ranking officer who enjoyed his company enough to invite him to dinner every night.

"As a matter of fact, I am on my way there now," Robbie said, straightening his collar and looking around for his own horse. He located it, tied to a nearby tree. He began to walk towards it. "Would you like to join me?"

"I don't know, Troup." Alexander scratched the back of his head nervously as he followed Robbie. "Do you really think I'd be welcome?"

"Sure." Robbie answered as he saddled his horse. After tightening the girth of the saddle, he swung up onto his horse. "I've never known the Schuylers to turn anyone away. C'mon Hammie. It'll be fun."

* * *

 **Hi everyone! Sorry this chapter got published sort of late...Christmas threw me a curveball. But I did promise you all holiday presents, did I not? SO. My first history blog post will be published on Friday along with the next chapter of this story. The post will be all about George Washington. Not to brag, but I spent my birthday at Mount Vernon where I learned a lot of great stuff, along with some biographies I've been ready and compressing.**

 **For a more immediate present, I'm posting the first chapter of yet another fanfiction right now. It might not be posted on a weekly basis like this one, but that's only because it's less narrative of actual events and is more "Hamilton and Angelica are classmates and grow up together." But the first chapter is pretty lengthy, so you still have a lot of reading!**

 **Happy holidays, everyone!~**


	9. Chapter 9

Alexander adored Philip Schuyler. He had only known the man for a maximum of 30 minutes, but he had always been a good test of character, and well, Philip was about as good as they came. The moment that Robbie arrived with Alexander in tow, Philip introduced himself and welcomed Alexander into the Schuyler mansion. It was a glorious mansion, too. He had then led the two young men into a smaller room in the house, where he invited them to play a game of cards before dinner. He didn't even mind when Alexander apologetically explained that he had not thought to bring his wallet with him; Philip had given him money to gamble away and had waved off Alexander's promise to pay him back.

They played cards for about twenty-five minutes before a teenaged girl came into the room and informed them that dinner was ready. She was a cute girl, but a girl nonetheless. Certainly too young for Alexander. So he only took a polite interest in her. He smiled when she looked over at him curiously, but his smile was friendly only within the confines of a man meeting a fellow man's young daughter.

"Of course, Peggy, darling." Philip said, smiling at his daughter fondly. As they stood up, he turned to look at Alexander. "Have you yet been acquainted with my daughters?"

"No, sir." Alexander answered confusedly. "I cannot think of a scenario in which I would have had the pleasure. Do you have more daughters than one?"

Philip smiled at Robbie. Robbie smiled back, like the two of them were in on a joke that Alexander did not yet understand. Peggy, meanwhile, looked impatient.

"So my Angel has not yet made a debut at your camp." Philip mused with a smile. "I am glad to hear that she is maintaining her sensibilities in the eyes of the Washingtons at the very least."

"Why shouldn't Angelica go to Washington's camp?" Peggy asked as they began to walk, presumably in the direction of the dining room. "If you would only let me fight, that would be the very first place I would go! Washington is such a lovely man; surely he would let girls fight along with boys."

"General Washington lets neither girls nor boys fight." Philip informed her, not unkindly. "He allows all adults to serve to the best of their ability."

"How old are you?" Peggy asked Alexander. She looked him over with scrutiny. It was clear that despite her undoubtedly upper-class upbringing, she was just as blunt and matter-of-fact as someone of much lower standing. Alexander admired that. He would not have to guess what Peggy Schuyler was thinking.

"I'm twenty-one." He told her. "Old enough to qualify for the war."

"You don't look twenty-one." Peggy accused.

"I'm sorry you feel that way." Alexander chuckled as Philip led them into the dining room. Just as he began to finish his sentence, something caught his eye. "But I must say -"

 _Oh_. Now he understood the looks that Philip and Robbie had exchanged. He hadn't taken Philip's mention of his daughters seriously until now. Now that they were standing in front of him, he understood. They were beautiful. No, beautiful wasn't the right word. They were enchanting. Alexander was sure that he had never been more spellbound in his life.

Though they were both extraordinary beauties, their appearance differed greatly. The one sitting across from Alexander was beautiful in a raw, unbridled way that Alexander had never before witnessed. Her eyes danced with mischief. Her smile was a loaded gun, ready to fire at any minute. Her posture was impossibly correct; she sat like a queen dining with a king, instead of a woman dining with two poor aides. Perhaps most remarkably, though, was the fact that she herself was wearing a soldier's uniform. Not only that, she outranked both Alexander and Robbie. Because she held a higher rank than Alexander, he averted his eyes and dipped his head into a respectful greeting. She smiled at him as he sat down.

The other girl sat to Alexander's right. She was beautiful in a way that Alexander had seen before. She was the girl-next-door that he had never been able to attain. She was the beautiful girl in school that he had always been afraid to speak to. She had a wholesome appearance. Big doe eyes, rosy cheeks, and a docile smile with two perfect dimples on either side. Unlike her sister, she was wearing a dress. It was a shade of green that suited her well.

Surrounded by such beautiful women, Alexander considered himself the luckiest man on Earth.

"Alexander, allow me to introduce my daughters: Angelica, the eldest, and Eliza, the middle. My son, Philip, unfortunately, cannot be here to make your acquaintance, as he is in Saratoga under General Gates' command." Philip said, gesturing to each of his daughters in turn. Angelica was the devious woman in uniform. Eliza was the beautiful woman in a dress.

"It's lovely to meet you, Alexander." Eliza said, smiling kindly. A blush graced her perfectly dimpled cheeks. Alexander smiled back stupidly.

"You're Washington's aide?" Angelica asked, cocking her head to the side with a smirk. "The one in which he confides most?"

"That's hard to say." Alexander answered in an effort to remain humble. "I don't pretend to know who the General does or does not confide in."

"Oh, you're Hamilton, all right." Angelica smirked, leaning back in her chair.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Alexander decided.

"Take it however you like." Angelica winked at Alexander before taking a long sip of wine. Robbie chuckled. Philip rolled his eyes and exchanged dismayed looks with Peggy. Eliza blushed and looked down at her plate.

The door leading to the kitchen suddenly opened. Mrs. Schuyler appeared, holding a massive plate of ham. She placed the plate at the center of the table. She eyed Alexander as she did so.

"Hello." She smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile. It was very obviously forced for the sake of propriety.

"Honey, this is Alexander Hamilton," Philip said. "One of Washington's aides."

"Lovely to meet you, Alexander." Mrs. Schuyler's smile remained formal.

"And you." Alexander smiled back.

"Let me fix your plate." Eliza offered as Mrs. Schuyler took her seat. Alexander would have otherwise insisted on making his own plate, but he was beginning to feel just the slightest bit faint. It seemed that he had traveled too much within the past few weeks.

So he let her. He watched as beautiful little Eliza heaped on helpings of ham, mashed potatoes, and green beans. She returned his plate with a kind smile. He smiled back at her as he accepted the plate.

"So, Alexander," Angelica drew his attention away from Eliza. "What do you think about France?"

"I'm sorry?" Alexander asked. His mind was fuzzier than usual.

Angelica smirked at his slowness. "France's government structure has deteriorated since the Revolution began."

"Angelica, take your elbows off of the table." Mrs. Schuyler commanded.

Angelica automatically obeyed before continuing. "The newspapers are continually undermining the executive branch, the people are rioting on the streets, and a few pictures are circulating around the internet of the French flying the flag of the Revolution. What do you think about it? Think that we're starting a worldwide movement?"

Alexander took a longer pause than he usually would have; giving himself time to concoct an appropriate answer. "I hope not. If the entire world descends into anarchy, what type of anchor do we have? Right now, France is our ally. If their government falls, that changes. We need their continued support, which requires political stability."

"But France's current support is conditional. If that government were to fall, we would benefit from their support without having to satisfy the conditions." Angelica countered.

"I would rather follow through on an agreement than bear the consequences of the mayhem that a French Revolution would bring about."

"So you're a traditionalist?" Angelica cocked her head to the side curiously.

"More than I am an anarchist." Alexander answered, taking a long sip of water. He avoided the large glass of wine beside his plate. His stomach was unsettled enough as it was.

"Mmm, so the mongrel bites back." Angelica remarked, taking a sip of her wine. Her eyes gleamed with mischief. For once in his life, Alexander could not decide whether he was offended or amused. He was usually so decisive with his feelings.

"Angelica!" Philip chided. It seemed that he was offended on Alexander's behalf.

"There have been rumors in the area." Robbie told Alexander quietly.

"Rumors?" Alexander's headache had worsened. "What kind of rumors?"

"Really, son, you shouldn't worry about -" Philip tried to diffuse the situation, but Angelica cut in before he had the chance.

"They say that you're George Washington's son." She supplied willingly. "Well, his bastard son. They say that he took a trip to Puerto Rico when he was younger and got some girl into trouble."

"Angelica!" Eliza admonished.

"Washington's son? Really?" Alexander smiled good-naturedly. Rumors about his parentage usually sent him into a tailspin, but not this time. Angelica clearly did not mean to hurt his feelings. She was just challenging him to prove himself. "Huh. I certainly wish. Think of the land I would have."

"So he isn't your father?" Angelica asked.

"He isn't." Alexander answered.

"Then why don't you tell us about your family?" Eliza interjected, her smile much less predatory than her sister's. "I'm sure we're all interested to hear."

"Well," Alexander shifted in his seat. His limbs were beginning to ache. "My mother died when I was young. Her name was Rachel. When she died, my brother James and I were sent to live with my cousin. My cousin died just a little while later, so James and I were split up. I went to live with a foster family while James found a job in Puerto Rico."

"Do you talk to your brother often?" Eliza asked.

"I don't." Alexander replied. "We sort of fell out of touch over the years."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Eliza frowned. "Were you very close beforehand?"

"In a way," Alexander had never had been asked these kind of questions before. Generally, people were only interested in what he could do for them. People were interested in his views, in his sense of humor, in his intelligence. They were never interested in his backstory. "We worked together to survive. We understand the kind of people we are."

"And what about your father?" Eliza asked patiently.

"He left when my mother was still alive." Alexander responded.

"How terrible." Eliza whispered. "And yet, here you are, an aide to General Washington."

Alexander was exhausted. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to go home. Eliza was still telling him how incredible he was, but his mind no longer processed the meaning behind her words. He allowed his eyes to lose focus as he stared ahead at the set of candlesticks in the middle of the table.

"Are you alright?" Mrs. Schuyler interrupted Eliza's flow of talk. All of the Schuylers turned to look at Alexander.

"Yeah…" Alexander's voice sounded different than usual to his own ears. "I'm…"

* * *

 **Dun dun dunnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. No, I didn't forget to include the rest of the chapter, it's just short this week. I know, I know. But I wanted Alexander's introduction to Angelica and Eliza to be the center of attention, and then he got sick and, well, you'll find out what happened next week.**

 **IN THE MEANTIME, I published the first chapter of a different kind of Hamilton fanfic last week. I'm really proud of it, so if you dig my style or are looking for more Hamgelica/angsty Hamliza, head over there. I also published my first entry on my history website. It's all about George Washington. I found out some pretty neat stuff while doing research, including fun facts about dysentery and where Washington really got the teeth for his dentures. If you're interested in checking that out, go here:**

 **Happy Friday, everyone!**


	10. Chapter 10

He woke up in a hospital. Apparently he had fainted at the Schuyler mansion. Philip was present to explain the situation to him, but neither of his beautiful daughters were anywhere to be seen. Angelica was to report to Saratoga to advise General Gates. Robbie had gone to the hospital with them, but had been called back to camp before Alexander had awoken. Eliza had wanted to go along with Alexander and Philip, but Mrs. Schuyler had insisted that she needed help. The Schuylers, Philip said, were watching Angelica's infant son while she fought in the war. Alexander's heart sank. Angelica was married.

"I know that look, son." Philip had laughed. "Don't you let yourself get too close to Angelica. Better looking men than you have tried. Richer men than you have tried."

"Of course, sir." Alexander couldn't help but blush. He had known Philip Schuyler for all of a few hours and he had already collapsed in front of the man and drooled over his two daughters; at least one of which was married. "If you don't mind me asking, sir, have you spoken to a nurse? A doctor? Do you know if I can go?"

Philip smiled grimly. "Son, you're going to need to stay here for a while. It seems that while in Saratoga, you contracted a bout of pneumonia that's been going around the camps. I've seen it before. Angie had it earlier this year. It's nothing to worry about if you receive the right care, but you will not be going home tonight. Let the nurses take care of you. You're lucky to be important enough to merit such care."

"I can't stay here," Alexander's brows furrowed. He knew exactly how long it took to recover from pneumonia. A majority of Washington's men had been suffering from it for the past few months. He also knew exactly how it would look if Washington's secretary received special care for that same illness. "I have to get back to the General. He needs me. I'm supposed to -"

"Slow down." Philip smiled kindly. "I called General Washington while we were in the ambulance. He wants you to stay here until you get better. I've also received orders to instruct you that the moment the nurses give you the "okay," you are to call him."

"But sir -" Alexander protested, wriggling against the confines of the countless IVs, the sheets that were tucked in much too tight, and his aching limbs.

Philip sighed and pressed the button on Alexander's bed that would summon the nurse. "The General said it would be difficult to get you to stay. I should have known better than to suspect George Washington of overestimating anyone."

"Mr. Hamilton!" A nurse ran into the room, her face stern. "Settle down! Do I have to sedate you?"

Alexander made a frustrated noise before shooting the nurse a patronizing look. "I thought you would never ask. What do you have? Wine? Morphine? A tranquilizer dart? At this point, I'll take anything, really."

"Mr. Hamilton." The nurse admonished with no real bite. She just smiled down at him. Alexander knew her type. She was about 50, most likely a mother of some soldier off fighting the cause. She looked after young men like Alexander the way she would look after her own son. He could get away with a little bit of good-natured jokes.

"C'mon. Look at me. I'm great! I am in the best shape of my life. Let me go, Rita." He read her nametag. It did not help his case, as it turned out.

"Mr. Hamilton, you are not going anywhere. I have strict orders from the General and I intend to keep them. Now lay down and behave yourself or I'll stop using the _oral_ thermometer." Rita the nurse commanded, a wry smile on her face. Alexander grunted and flopped down in his bed.

"There's a boy." Philip chuckled. He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and shrugged it on as he stood up. "Now you stay here and behave yourself. I'll stop by from time to time, just to check up on you, make sure you don't get too lonely."

"How could I get too lonely, sir? I've got Rita, here." Alexander gestured towards Rita, his tone sarcastic.

"Good luck with him." Philip chuckled, affording Rita a smile before leaving the hospital room. His voice could be heard outside in the hallway. "And don't forget to call the General when you have a moment! He's been texting me every five minutes asking about your health!"

"Yes, sir." Alexander grumbled to himself. He turned to look at Rita. "May I?"

Rita thought it over for a moment. "Ten minutes. No more. Do not discuss anything that will induce an exceptional amount of stress. Remind him that you need rest. Remind yourself as well."

"Yes, ma'am." Alexander grumbled, dialing his cell phone. He knew Washington's number by heart at this point.

"Hamilton." Washington answered his phone himself on the first ring. He had obviously been expecting this call. "How the hell are you, my boy?"

"Good enough to come back tonight, as a matter of fact." Alexander answered.

Washington chuckled. "You're not leaving until a nurse clears you."

"Sir." Alexander complained. "Don't you trust me to know when I am healthy enough to return?"

"Not even remotely. You should enjoy your time off, Alexander. Read a book. Watch some television. Get some sleep."

"I don't have my books." Alexander reminded Washington.

"I'm sure the nurses could find something for you if you asked nicely."

"I think that ship might have sailed." Alexander glanced in the direction of the doorway.

Washington sighed. "Hamilton, don't tell me you're terrorizing those poor nurses for doing their jobs."

"I just want to go back to camp." Alexander grumbled. "For God's sake, it's almost Christmas! Have mercy. I can sleep there. I won't leave my quarters if you want. Just let me come back."

"No, Alexander." Washington's voice was firm. "That's taking a senseless risk. You are sick. You need to take a break and get some rest. I won't hear any more arguments. Now, would you like to speak to Lafayette and Laurens before your nurse takes your phone for the night, or do you want to get a jumpstart on sleep?"

"Yes! Please." Alexander agreed immediately. Maybe they would convince Washington to let him leave the hospital. Maybe they would concoct a plan to bust him out of the hospital when Rita wasn't paying attention.

"Uh-huh." Washington's tone was nothing short of smug. There was a scuffling noise and suddenly Alexander's senses were overwhelmed with the sound of John's swearing and Lafayette's accent.

" _Monsieur_ 'amilton!" Lafayette said cheerfully. "'ow are you feeling? Monsieur de General tells us zat you have fallen ill. Is it ze lung sickness?"

" _Oi_." Alexander confirmed glumly.

"He said that Philip Schuyler brought you in." John said. "What were you doing with Philip Schuyler? Isn't he an officer? Isn't his daughter an officer, too? Are you taking interviews elsewhere? Can you get me one? I'd love to get out of here. Schuyler's daughters are much hotter than Washington's daughter. Are you planning on just up and - _ow_! Your excellency, sir, I didn't - _stop_!"

" _Monsieur_ de General is 'itting _Monsieur_ Laurens." Lafayette told Alexander in a conspiratorial tone.

"Hardcover book?" Alexander guessed, grinning. Despite the fact that everyone insisted on spreading the false knowledge that Washington was a patient man, the three boys knew the truth. Washington would often grab what was nearest and smack whoever was the cause of his anger. Sometimes it was playful. Sometimes it was the Battle of Bunker, where Washington went after every fleeing man with his riding crop.

"Riding crop." Lafayette said.

"An oldie but a goodie." Alexander chuckled.

"Mister Hamilton." Rita was back. How was Rita already back? "Your ten minutes are up."

"Aw, c'mon. Ten more minutes?" Alexander asked, holding his phone away from his ear to speak. He could hear John's muffled yelps and Lafayette's laughter. "This is good for me. It's lifting my spirits!"

"Mister Hamilton." Not only was Rita going to make him hang up - she was holding her hand out for his phone. He wouldn't even be able to call his friends back when Rita wasn't looking. She was a clever nurse. Alexander detested her for that fact. "Hand it over."

"Guys," Alexander interrupted the proceedings glumly. "I've got to go."

"Already?" John didn't disguise his disappointment.

"Apparently so." Alexander glared at Rita. Rita didn't seem to care. "I'll try to call you tomorrow. In the meantime, try to survive Washington's anger till I get back."

"No promises," John sighed. "Get well soon, Hammie."

"Goodbye, _Monsieur_ 'amilton." Lafayette chimed in.

* * *

It was Christmas and Alexander had not spoken to anyone other than Rita all day.

" _Ritaaaaaa_." He whined for probably the thirtieth time. Rita showed up in the doorway. She tried to scowl, but the ghost of a smile gave her away. She liked Alexander, despite his behavior.

"Yes, Mister Hamilton?"

"Do I have any mail, at least? I'm bored out of my mind in here."

"What about the book I gave you last night?"

"I finished it last night."

"It was seven hundred pages!"

Alexander rolled his eyes. "The longest words were five letters. It was a child's book."

"If I let you read the newspaper," Rita had been withholding the newspaper from Alexander for weeks. "Do you promise that you won't get worked up like you did on your first morning here? I cannot have you calling the General to ask him if tabloid rumors about the war are true."

Alexander sat up in his bed eagerly. "Yes. Please. Let me see the newspaper. I'll be good. I'll be so good."

Rita didn't look convinced but she left the room. "All right, but I'm taking the gossip section out, just in case. Oh! You have another piece of mail. A Christmas card, by the looks of it."

"Really?" Alexander couldn't imagine who would send him a Christmas card. It couldn't have been Washington. Alexander was the only aide that would have insisted that Washington think of diplomacy at such a time. McHenry was an idiot. He didn't understand how politics worked. Besides that, Washington was at Mount Vernon with Martha and his bratty stepchildren for the holidays. He was probably doing his best not to think about the war or his soldiers. John was too absorbed in trying to create an adequate Christmas for his toddler daughter during the war effort. Lafayette was homesick and didn't want to acknowledge that it was Christmas at all.

"Really." Rita said. Judging from the smirk on her face, she couldn't imagine who would send him a Christmas card, either. She plopped the newspaper and the card in his lap before exiting the room.

Alexander made himself as comfortable as was possible and opened the letter. The envelope gave him a papercut. He had never learned the very adult skill of properly opening an envelope. Just another consequence of growing up without parents.

The card was two corgis struggling through snow. They were both wearing sweaters and Santa hats. One corgi lagged behind, tugging a large bag with his mouth. Gifts spilled from the bag into the snow. Alexander's brows furrowed. Definitely not from anyone that he knew. He opened the card. He skipped the lengthy note scrawled in large, loopy letters. He immediately looked to the bottom of the card, searching for a name.

 _Love,_

 _Eliza Schuyler_

Eliza. The beautiful girl-next-door in the dress. In the shadow of her older, quick-witted sister and her officer's uniform, Alexander had almost completely forgotten about Eliza. Was Eliza married? Maybe she wasn't. If Eliza wasn't married, Alexander would marry her himself. He started her lengthy note from the start.

 _Dearest Alexander,_

 _I was so sorry that I could not visit you at the hospital with Papa this month. Mama worried that I might fall ill and bring the virus into the house, putting Angelica's son (little Philip) at risk. I would have liked to talk to you more. I felt that you and I might be kindred spirits of sorts._

 _It's a terrible shame that you're spending Christmas in the hospital. I really do wish that Mama would let me see you. I hope that you will receive other visitors in my stead. I also hope that you will forgive me for my inability to wish you a Merry Christmas in person. But I'm sure that you have plenty of visitors to wish you a Merry Christmas themselves._

 _I hope that this card makes you smile as much as it made me smile. I wish you a Merry Christmas and a speedy recovery._

 _Love,_

 _Eliza Schuyler_

Alexander smiled like a big, dumb idiot.

"Who was the card from?" Rita poked her head in the room just fast enough to catch Alexander's dumb smile. Alexander still took it upon himself to scowl as fierce as he could manage.

"Just a family friend." He said gruffly. He set down the card and made a fuss about shuffling through the newspaper. Rita smirked as she resumed her job.

Eliza's Christmas card soon escaped Alexander's thoughts as he read the article occupying a substantial chunk of the front page of the newspaper: " **John Adams and Other Congressmen Consider Removal of Washington as Commander - Say Gates is Among Potential Replacements** ".

"I have to go." Alexander mumbled to himself.

He knew Washington better than anyone, and he knew that Washington would not handle this potential coup de tat well. He knew that Washington would need help. McHenry wasn't the kind of help Washington would need. John and Lafayette weren't great, either. John would be on the phone, screaming at his father. Lafayette would be sharpening his sword, calling for Congressional blood.

Without attracting the attention of Rita, Alexander climbed out of bed. He was usually only allowed two hours of standing time a day, so his legs wobbled a little as he collected his small assortment of belongings. He didn't pay that any mind. He thought only about where to find his horse when he got out of the hospital. Would it still be at Philip Schuyler's home? Philip Schuyler had driven him over in a car; a luxury the Schuyler family could apparently afford. There was no way that Alexander could afford to take a cab from the hospital to the Schuyler mansion. He didn't have Philip Schuyler's phone number. He couldn't exactly ask for his horse back. His only option was a grim one.

He would have to steal a horse.

But first, he would have to race past Rita.

He put pants on for the first time in weeks. He threw on his sweater, which was unfortunately itchy. He wished that he had worn something infinitely more comfortable when visiting the Schuyler mansion. He slung his backpack full of belongings over his back and glanced at his appearance in the mirror. He was unkempt, to say the least. When he reached Mount Vernon, he would need to shave and run a comb through his hair before he met with Washington.

He crouched low as he approached the door. He poked his head out of the doorway. Rita was typing on her computer and speaking loudly on the phone. She had her hands full. There would not be a better opportunity to this one.

So Alexander did not hesitate. He shot out of his hospital room like a bottle rocket. He ran as fast as his little legs would carry him. He heard Rita yelling after him. He heard the rest of the nurses start yelling as he reached the stairwell. It was only to be used in the event of an emergency. Alarms began to sound as Alexander hurdled down each flight of stairs.

When he finally reached the bottom, he saw security guards scrambling around. Lucky for Alexander, his sweater bore the insignia of General George Washington. The security guards automatically saw him as an authority figure and saluted him as he ran by. Alexander saluted them back, but did not stop running.

It wasn't until he was on the outskirts of the city that he slowed down. It was then that he was forced to face the problem of stealing a horse. On Christmas day, no less. There were already a limited amount of horses in the city - most people had abandoned the cities in favor of the Midwest - and those rich enough to remain in the city were weary of looters. Christmas day would surely only serve to heighten their security precautions.

He made a frustrated noise and began to pace the pavement. He shivered against the cold. It was too cold for him to be loitering around looking for horses to steal.

"Alexander Hamilton?"

Alexander whipped around. It was Angelica Schuyler. She was in dress uniform, most likely going to some sort of party. She was also in a car. A car driven by a hired driver. Alexander's heart soared with hope.

"Angelica," He approached her like a drowning man would a life raft.

"You look like a man on a mission." She looked him up and down with an amused smile. "You're a mess."

"I am." Alexander didn't have time to mince words. "Do you know where the General is today? I need to see him. And, uh, do you know how I could get to him? I really need to see him today."

"Do you have Christmas plans with him?" Angelica asked playfully.

"Something of the sort." Alexander quirked a smile.

"Lucky me! I have Christmas plans at Mount Vernon, too. Martha Jefferson told Abigail Adams who told Martha Washington that I was a delightful jewel who really ought to be invited to all social events. Evidently, Mrs. Washington trusts everything that Abigail Adams tells her. So, come on. Don't be shy. Hop in. You can come along with me."

"Will…John Adams be at Mount Vernon?" Alexander asked as he climbed into the car.

Angelica shook her head. "No, the little troll is still playing king in Philadelphia. Why? Do you not like him either?"

"Not since this morning." Alexander pulled the newspaper article out of his backpack and plopped it in Angelica's lap. Angelica glanced down at the paper for a moment before reaching in her bag and pulling out a hairbrush. She handed Alexander the brush before beginning to read. Alexander took her unspoken cue and struggled to untangle his mop of hair as efficiently as possible.

Angelica took a minute to skim the article. She was a fast reader. Alexander watched her eyes rove over the page quickly and efficiently. When she finished reading, her eyebrows jumped up to her hairline. A small smile of disbelief took hold of her features.

"They can't be serious. Gates is an idiot."

"Adams is an idiot, too, so he can't see that Gates is an idiot."

"Does the General know?"

"That's what I'm betting on."

"How do you think he's going to take it?"

"How well would you take it?"

"That bad, huh?"

"Possibly worse."

"I thought he had a temperament like bland oatmeal."

Alexander couldn't help but laugh. "You've never met Washington, have you?"

"I have not."

"Well," Alexander chuckled. "Maybe steer clear of him tonight. Or at least, let me absorb the brunt of his anger for a little while. Oh, and if he's holding a book or a riding crop, stay out of his way."

"I'll keep that in mind." Angelica smirked.

As the car drove down to Virginia, Alexander found himself becoming more and more wrapped around Angelica's finger.

Eliza's Christmas card, meanwhile, was left forgotten on the floor of Alexander's hospital room.

* * *

 **Happy Friday everyone! As always, here is the newest installment of this winding story. Fun fact: Angelica Schuyler really was already married when Alexander first met the Schuyler fam. But he was young and super focused on rising above his station in the military, so he wasn't looking to settle down just yet anyway.**

 **Anyway. There's also a new post on my history blog today and if you haven't already, the second Hamilton fic I've started seems to be going over fairly well. Check it out if you have a minute.**

 **Hope you're enjoying the way the story is unraveling at present~**


	11. Chapter 11

If Alexander was expecting Washington to be happy to see him, he had another thing coming. Upon his and Angelica's arrival, Martha greeted Angelica warmly. She greeted Alexander nervously. She tried everything to keep him from going into Washington's office, where Washington had locked himself away. She offered him food, she pointed to where John and Lafayette were tolerating Washington's stepson, Jacky, and she even went so far as to suggest that he and Angelica start a game of cards in the card room. Admittedly, Alexander almost let himself be deterred in order to play cards with Angelica. But somehow, he remained strong and insisted that Martha let him go to the office.

He'd never been to Mount Vernon before. He was surprised by what he saw. Lots of land. Tons of workers. Most of them were speaking to one another in Spanish. Likely immigrants. Alexander could only hope that Washington was paying them a fair wage. He knew enough about statistics to know that such equal pay was uncommon among Virginia planters. One such worker showed Alexander to Washington's study. Alexander was sure to be courteous - perhaps overwhelmingly so - to that worker.

"Sir, Alexander Hamilton?" The worker informed Washington before Alexander entered the room.

"Hamilton?" Washington did not sound pleasantly surprised. "Okay. Send him in."

"Right this way." The worker ushered Alexander into the surprisingly small office.

"Thank you." Alexander said for maybe the tenth time. As the worker exited the room, Alexander turned to look at Washington critically. "How much does that man make a year?"

"Hamilton, did you go into Gates' home and leak a private letter from Thomas Conway to the papers?" Washington demanded.

"You didn't answer my question." Alexander reminded him before succumbing to the demand of his commander. "No, sir. I spent as little time in Gates' quarters as I could. I didn't think that I possessed the stomach to look through his personal effects."

"Then why did Gates send me a thirty page letter calling for your removal?" Washington shoved the stack of papers in Alexander's face. Alexander flinched away, unable to help himself.

"I don't know, sir. I did exactly as you asked. I went to Saratoga, I insisted that Gates send you men - and not just the 600 worst men he could spare, I might add - and then I left Saratoga. I didn't think I needed to conduct espionage on a senior general."

Washington stared at Alexander for a moment. He then looked down at the newspaper on the desk. He relinquished Gates' letter in favor of shoving the newspaper in Alexander's face. "You didn't leak this?"

Alexander skimmed the letter that had been published. It was extremely critical of Washington and his policies. Alexander couldn't say that he wouldn't have leaked the letter had he found it first, but he hadn't found it first and so he hadn't been the one to leak it.

"No, sir."

"What about your friend, Robert Troup? Gates is calling for his blood, too." Washington sank into his armchair. He rubbed his chin with his thumb, his brows furrowed.

"Troup and I didn't see each other until I was out of Gates' camp. We went to the Schuyler mansion together."

"Do I have your word?" Washington knew Alexander's aversion to dishonesty.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, then I suppose I had a speech all worked out for nothing. Did you misbehave on your stay in the hospital? Do anything that might merit an unbraiding?" Washington asked good-naturedly.

"I was never cleared to leave the hospital, sir." Alexander confessed. "I broke out when I read in the papers that Congress was considering Gates for your position."

"Did you give them your insurance information when you were checked in?" Washington asked.

"I was unconscious when I was checked in." Alexander answered.

"So you stole healthcare from one of the only hospitals with the space and staff to treat you." Washington demanded. Alexander could see his temper begin to boil. If he looked closely enough, he was sure that he would see steam rising from the top of Washington's head.

And that's how he earned himself the lecture that Washington had planned on giving him, had he stolen Gates' letter. Alexander considered his crime to be much less than what it could have been, but Washington evidently disagreed. Stealing a general's private letter was the same as leaving the hospital without settling the bill. Alexander would be readmitted to the hospital for a check-up and, if the nurses allowed it, would settle his bill and rejoin his friends at Washington's camp afterwards. Alexander supposed this was what having a real father felt like.

Once Washington's lecture was over, he and Alexander rejoined the guests in the dining room. There was an amazing spread of food that made Alexander's mouth water, especially after weeks of eating hospital food. Martha, saint that she was, put Angelica across the table from Alexander. All night, Alexander competed with her to be the wittiest at the table. Martha and George watched them in amusement. Jacky would occasionally try to intervene, but he wasn't even close to matching their level of wit. By and large, they ignored his contributions. Washington's stepdaughter, Patcy, occasionally spoke to Alexander. He was kind to her - he understood that she suffered from epilepsy and was held back from enjoying a normal social life as a cruel consequence of such a diagnosis - so he couldn't fault her for being desperate to speak to someone her own age. He answered all of her questions and even flirted with her; it wasn't a lot, certainly not enough to make Washington mad, just enough to make Patcy laugh and Martha smile at him in nothing short of pure gratitude.

After dinner, Martha made up a bed for Alexander in one of the guest rooms. His room was next to Angelica's room. Alexander tried not to think too much about that. He couldn't help it, though. There wasn't even a hallway to separate them. There was maybe two feet of space between their doors. Sure, the floors creaked, but the Washingtons' bedroom was in a hidden compartment way out of the way. Jacky and Patcy's respective bedrooms were on the third floor. They'd have no way of knowing if Alexander walked that two feet and knocked on Angelica's door.

But he wouldn't. He was a gentlemen staying in a gentlemen's home. He would not behave like the scoundrel foster kid that everyone thought that he was. He would conduct himself in a manner that Washington would approve of. He would not -

There was a knock on the door.

He opened the door, half expecting Martha to be standing on the other side of the door with a plate of cookies and a cup of warm milk. The woman adored playing the hostess. She had fawned over Alexander all night long. He couldn't help but live in fear of more attention throughout his stay at Mount Vernon.

To his surprise, it was Angelica.

Alexander looked around the otherwise empty floor nervously. "Angelica? What are you…?"

"Shh! Let me in. My father will have my head if the General tells him that I was roaming the halls in the middle of the night." Angelica pushed past Alexander into his room despite his whispered protests.

"Why are you roaming the halls in the middle of the night?"

"Because I wanted to talk to you. The coffee we had after dinner is keeping me up and I got so bored all alone in my room. I thought about going upstairs to talk to Patcy - I know that the General would take far less offense to a late-night rendezvous with a fellow girl, for some reason - but there was a good chance that Jacky would come out of his room and join us, and, well, I could hardly risk that. Surely you understand."

"Unfortunately so." Alexander smiled sheepishly.

"So that leaves you." Angelica said, looking Alexander over critically. "You know, my sister loves you."

"I'm sorry?" Alexander felt his face going pale.

"Eliza." Angelica plopped down on the bed that Alexander had been assigned. "I guess I shouldn't say that she loves you, but why not? She does. Eliza never does anything halfway; if she likes you, she loves you. I don't mean that she's going to start sending you love letters or writing you love songs, but I know she'd like to hear from you again. Call it a sister's intuition."

Alexander thought back to the Christmas card that was by now almost certainly in the hospital's garbage can. Guilt seized hold of his chest.

"She wrote me a Christmas card." He didn't know why he was telling Angelica. She would ask him what became of it. She would tell Eliza when Alexander confessed that he had left it behind. He would lose his chance with Eliza before it had even begun.

"Of course she did." Angelica just shook her head and smiled. "You should write her a thank-you note. It would mean the world to her, and it would put you on good terms with my parents."

"A thank-you note." Alexander nodded to himself. "That's a good idea. Thanks."

"You're going to forget, aren't you?"

Alexander smiled bashfully. "It is my nature."

Angelica rolled her eyes. She held out her hand and looked at Alexander expectantly. "Give me your phone. I'm going to call you, text you, and FaceTime you until you send the note. I won't let you forget about it."

Alexander handed over his phone and allowed Angelica to put her phone number in before looking up his number and putting it in her phone.

"Most girls wouldn't help a scoundrel get a date with their sister." Alexander said as Angelica returned his phone.

"Are you really a scoundrel?" Angelica asked with a small smile.

"Well, I have nowhere to go on Christmas. That's pretty indicative."

Angelica shrugged. "So we give a stray a home. Eliza is famous for that. She once brought home a box full of kittens and hid them from my Mama for an entire week. I thought she was going to kill Eliza."

"So you think that Eliza likes me because I'm an orphan?"

Angelica laughed and shook her head. "No, but I think that helps. I think she likes you because you're handsome. Because you're one of the smartest people to set foot in my house - besides me, of course. Because you talk to Patcy and Jacky Custis with just as big a smile as you talk to me. Because you had so little and you gave up what little you had for the service of a country you aren't sure will even exist tomorrow. Because you are one of a kind, Alexander Hamilton, and it's just my bad luck that I married my husband before I knew that someone like you walked the Earth. If I can't have you, Eliza should have the chance."

"I'll send her a thank-you note tomorrow." Alexander promised, a warm smile on his lips.

* * *

"Hamilton!" Alexander had been back at camp for less than a week and Washington had not stopped yelling his name since he left the hospital.

"Yes, sir?" Alexander poked his head into the room, frustrated.

"Have you spoken to Laurens today?"

"Yes, sir. Why?"

"Are you aware that he has called his father and demanded that his father speak to Congress on my behalf?"

"No, sir. I tend to allow Laurens some privacy when he speaks to his family."

Washington growled to himself. "This is ridiculous. I'm not a damsel in distress. I don't need a twenty-two year-old brat sending his dad to my rescue. I have half a mind to send him to serve under Gates as a punishment."

"Don't send Laurens away, sir." Alexander interjected. "Send me. Why don't you give me some kind of command? I would serve under General Gates if you would only give me a field command. I could tell you everything! I could tell you what he's doing, saying, and how his troops are reacting to the rumors in the paper."

"I don't need a spy, Hamilton, I need a functional army." Washington grumbled.

"But sir, I could be a part of that functional army!"

"You're already a part of the functional army."

Alexander sighed heavily. "But I'm not! Sir, with all due respect, a monkey could do my job. I'm not bragging when I say that I have potential. I could do so much more than this! You could give me a job that requires more than half a brain cell to do!"

"For the last time, Hamilton, _no_."

"Why do you get to say it's the last time?" Alexander demanded, infuriated. "You're the commander of the army, so of course I can't go over your head, but don't you think that it's incredibly narrow-minded and not to mention _petty_ to devote so much attention to ensuring that one lowly aide never gets a command? You must have better things to do. So, why me? What's so special about me that you would be willing to sacrifice time and energy that you might spend on actually doing some good for this country?"

In the heat of the moment, Alexander had lost his temper. He did not address Washington properly. He raised his voice until he was red in the face. Judging by the look on Washington's face, it was not going over well.

"Who do you think you are?" Washington towered over Alexander. It wasn't hard to do. Washington was 6"2. Alexander was 5"7. "You think that because I haven't automatically given you a position that you haven't earned, I've singled you out? Hamilton, you sit on your ass all day long answering my phone and emails. Why do you deserve a promotion over someone who has put their life on the line no less than five times this year alone? You are selfish, you are arrogant, and you are acting like a spoiled brat. You have about thirty seconds to get out of my sight before I court marshal you."

"Yes, sir." Alexander snapped, glowering at Washington before slinking out of his quarters.

* * *

Nothing changed. Nothing changed and damn if that didn't drive Alexander crazy.

He texted Angelica, asking for the address of the Schuyler mansion. He wanted to send Eliza a thank-you note. He received a text from the service provider, stating that Angelica's phone number was no longer in service. So he carried around a letter for Eliza that couldn't be delivered.

Washington remained cool towards Alexander. Alexander had hoped that such unhappiness might allow Washington to get past his ridiculous notion that keeping Alexander as an aide was protecting him from some unknown danger. This was not the case. In fact, it only caused the General to become petty. It wasn't uncommon for him to grant John and McHenry the day off, leaving Alexander to field every call and email with no help whatsoever. He "forgot" to include Alexander in important memos. He even went so far as to taking John, Lafayette and McHenry on a picnic. Alexander was left behind to answer phones.

So Alexander did the only thing that he could do. He wrote emails. He handled phone calls. Then he packed his bags and carried them on to the next camp. His letter to Eliza was quickly forgotten.

* * *

 **Sorry the new update came so late - I had a late day of classes and thanks to the guy sitting next to me in my Law & Property class coughing every 30 seconds without covering his mouth, I am now sick! But my loss is your gain. Instead of going to school to study this weekend, I'll most likely be in bed working to finish this fic.**

 **Happy Friday everyone!**


	12. Chapter 12

"I want you to lead my men at Monmouth." Alexander gritted his teeth as he answered an email from John Adams, the Head of the War Board.

Washington was talking to Charles Lee, a fellow Virginian. It seemed like Virginians were getting all of the best positions in the military these days. Perhaps it was Washington showing favoritism for his fellow yeomen. More likely, though, it was Congress doing what they did best: politics. Virginia accounted for a majority of the population. Members of Congress weren't stupid. They knew that once the war was over, they would be up for election. If they had Virginians on their side, they would not need to court the smaller states into choosing them. Therefore, they granted Virginians higher positions. They gave planters greater tax breaks. They largely ignored any possible immigrant orphans.

"Second in command?" Lee asked, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. Alexander hit the keys of his laptop with more force than usual. Of course Lee was taking the opportunity for granted. Of course he wouldn't appreciate it the same way that Alexander would have. It was torture to have to listen to him. "General Washington, I have been a commander throughout the entire war. What makes you think that I would readily submit myself to a commanding officer again?"

"You have always been under my command." Washington was growing impatient. The man really did have an extreme temper. "Now you'll just be more immediately in my view. Lee, I am asking you to serve where your country needs you. Will you accept my request or not?"

"I don't know," Lee made an uncertain sound. He looked around the room, locking eyes with Alexander for a few seconds. He looked at Alexander the way that someone looks at a streetlamp. Recognition, but little interest. That was somehow more infuriating than being passed over for the offer that Lee was receiving.

"Fine." Washington said shortly. "Hamilton."

"Yes, sir?" Alexander didn't bother trying to hide his unhappiness.

"Send for Lafayette. We'll see if he wants the promotion." Washington didn't take his eyes off of Lee as he spoke.

Alexander sighed as he began scrolling through his phone for Lafayette's phone number. Yet another person at camp was getting this promotion instead of him. He couldn't help but harbor feelings of resentment, even if it was one of his close friends who was going to get the promotion.

"I'll take it." Lee gave himself away by speaking hastily, reacting to Washington's threat before he could remember to remain aloof. He had cost himself a chunk of his reputation with Washington - Washington only admired men who pretended that they didn't want what was being offered to them. Alexander had long since lost such admiration from Washington.

"You'll take it?" Washington feigned surprise. He could really be an asshole sometimes.

"Yes, sir." Realizing that he had been backed into a corner, Lee looked down at his feet as a sign of submission. Alexander rolled his eyes and returned his cell phone to his desk drawer.

"How about for twenty-thousand dollars less a year than you've been getting lately?" Washington folded his arms and stared down at Lee critically. Lee looked up quickly, his mouth hanging open in shock. Twenty-thousand dollars was a lot of money. The economy was complete turmoil because of the war. It was likely that Lee and his family were just getting by as it was. Now, they may have been living beyond their means in order to produce such a debt, but twenty-thousand dollars could go a long way towards resolving or worsening a debt.

"Sir?" Lee's voice was hoarse.

"Your predominant complaint was leading my men, was it not?" Washington asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Don't you agree that a man might be inclined to work harder for a man who pays him twice his usual salary?" Washington was backing Lee into a pretty tight corner.

"Yes, sir."

"So you'll take a pay cut. I'll split the twenty-thousand between the men that you'll be leading. They'll know that you were selfless enough to volunteer the money as a sign of goodwill to them."

"Very good, sir."

"Good. Hamilton, see to the pay cut, will you?" Washington glanced in Alexander's direction.

"Yes, sir." Alexander immediately began yet another email to John Adams. It would be the sixth time that Adams had heard from him in about two hours. Alexander didn't mind. He liked making Adams do work on Washington's behalf; it was proof that Adams' efforts to promote Gates over Washington had failed, and that he was now being punished for taking the wrong side.

"Lee, I'd like my quarters to myself if you don't mind. Why don't you go meet the men you'll be leading? They're more likely to respect someone who talks to them, instead of a smarmy officer in an overpriced coat who is only among the men when crossing from his quarters to mine."

"Of course, sir." Lee all but ran out of Washington's quarters. Alexander couldn't help but envy him for being able to escape.

"Did you write to Adams about cutting his salary?" Washington turned to look at Alexander.

"I did." Alexander said.

"Good. Men like Lee…" Washington put his hands on his hips and shook his head, sighing heavily. "I don't understand him. Taking a promotion for granted. Every other man here would bend over backwards for half of the titles that have just been thrown at Lee's feet, and he's still acting as though I have to persuade him to take a promotion."

This was the most that Washington had spoken to Alexander in weeks. Alexander didn't want to break the spell by saying the wrong thing, or by reminding Washington that he, too, would have bent over backwards for the promotion that Charles Lee had received. Sure, he'd rather have a promotion than Washington's friendship, but he was smart enough to know that the two went hand-in-hand.

"You could always take it from him and offer it to Lafayette," Alexander said, his tone playful. "I haven't sent the necessary forms to Adams yet."

"Congressman Adams." Washington corrected him absent-mindedly. He didn't like Adams any better than Alexander did at that moment, but he never disrespected someone. Not even if he disliked them. "I can't take the promotion away from him because I don't think that he's appreciating it enough. Legality aside, it would send a bad message to the rest of the soldiers. I don't want them to think that they can't be honest with me."

"Sir," Alexander was about to lose Washington's friendship all over again. "Most of the troops already think that."

"They do?" Washington turned to look at Alexander in surprise. His face fell. He sank into the chair in front of Alexander's desk.

"They're scared, sir." Alexander leaned forward at his desk tentatively. "Every time they go into battle, they're terrified. They can't tell you that, though, because if anyone even tries, you accuse them of cowardice in front of their fellow soldiers. If you're going to be considered a commander, don't you think it would be wise for you to listen to their fears instead of condemning them? It would do wonders for morale alone."

"How do you know this?" Washington asked. He glanced in the direction of his door. "That they're afraid, I mean."

Alexander fidgeted in his seat apprehensively. "Well, sir, you need to promise me that you won't betray my confidence if I tell you."

"If it's a legal matter, I won't condone any immoral behaviors." Washington said firmly.

Alexander shook his head. "No, sir. They aren't doing anything wrong, it's just - it's an important ritual to them. If you were to try to intervene, I don't know what would happen. I do know that it wouldn't be good."

"Okay." Washington agreed, looking concerned.

"They meet in someone's quarters - usually mine or McHenry's - the night before a battle. They sit around, telling everyone everything about their lives; even their darkest secrets. They just want someone to know, sir, in case they don't make it off of the field the next day. They call their loved ones, they make their peace with their God, and they all break bread together. It's nice. The idea is just that, you know, if it's their last night on Earth, they shouldn't spend it alone."

"So that's why I can't find anyone to sharpen my sword the night before a battle." Washington mused, leaning back in his seat.

"Sir, they would flay me like a fish if they knew that I told you about this. They all worship you; they don't want you to think that they're cowards. They really aren't. All of those men would gladly live or die as America required. They just don't want their contributions to be meaningless in the end."

"They want to matter." Washington pressed his thumb against his lips and nodded thoughtfully.

"Exactly. But if you maybe just expressed fears of your own, or, I don't know, did something to assure them that it was okay, that they could be honest…I think it would made a world of difference to them."

"I understand." Washington didn't seem to mind Alexander handing him advice.

"And sir, promoting men like Charles Lee; that isn't going to be a popular choice. Lee doesn't talk to the troops. He doesn't care about them, and they all know that. They all know that Lee wouldn't think twice about risking their lives. They want someone who genuinely believes that they matter."

"Hamilton." Washington warned him from pursuing the topic any further.

"I'm not even talking about myself." Alexander assured him. "If you had only given the position to Lafayette, or even Laurens. Everyone would have known that when they got to Monmouth, their commander would do everything in their power to make sure everyone made it off of the battlefield safely."

"I'll think about it. In the meantime, I want you to get that information to Adams. I want the salary bonuses in those soldiers' bank accounts by the time Monmouth is over." Washington stood up and straightened the collar of his overly starched shirt.

"Yes, sir." Alexander set to work preparing all of the necessary documents for Adams. Though he continued to loathe Adams for his disloyalty to Washington, he had to admit, the man worked hard. He would most likely have the bonuses in the necessary bank accounts by the next morning.

"Oh, and Hamilton." Washington turned around just outside of his private study. "I received a phone call from Gates this morning. It seems that one of his soldiers, a James Wilkinson, was the one to leak Thomas Conway's letters. He will be issuing a formal apology to you and Robert Troup in the papers tomorrow morning."

"Yes, sir." Alexander smiled as he resumed his work.

* * *

The plan was made. Lee was to take the rear guard of Hanover's forces while Washington dealt with the front. Lee would engage first, weakening the target before Washington's larger forces struck. They left before the sun was in the sky. Alexander and John stood by Washington's side as they waited for some sort of signal from Lee.

That signal was the sound of gunshots in the distance. Everyone stood there, staring in the direction of the sounds. No one dared to say a word until Washington spoke.

"Hamilton." Washington's first words were for Alexander.

"Yes, sir." Alexander jumped to attention.

"Take a horse and go find Lee's forces. Tell me everything that you see. I want an estimate on casualties, I want a longitude and latitude of their location, I want to know how many soldiers are on that field. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir." Alexander mounted a horse before Washington had finished speaking. This was a perfect opportunity to prove himself. He would ride over and Lee would ask him for help. After all, Lee was stupid. Alexander was brilliant. Alexander would agree to take over for Lee and would send Lee back to Washington to report on the simple details that a chimp could determine. The soldiers would like and trust him more than Lee and, as a result, they would fight even harder with Alexander at the front. They would crush the redcoats, making Washington's job much easier. It would be a decisive victory for the patriots, all thanks to Alexander. Washington would have no choice but to promote him to a field command.

He let various renditions of this fantasy play in his mind as he rode through the fields towards the sound of guns, cannons, and screams.

That fantasy was effectively ruined when he crossed paths with Lee. He and his forces were retreating.

"What are you doing?" Alexander had to shout to be heard over the chaos.

"Turn around!" Lee yelled. "Hurry!"

"No!" Alexander rode straight for Lee, forcing him to turn his horse around. "I'll stay here with you, Lee, and I'll die with you, too! Let us die rather than retreat!"

"Are you crazy?" Lee was now close enough that Alexander could see the terror in his eyes. "We'll _all_ die here!"

"Then go back to Washington." Alexander said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "And tell him that you were forced to retreat. I'm going to stay here and die a soldier's death."

Lee rode off. Apparently he was not ashamed to tell Washington about his retreat. It was just as well. Alexander was left in charge of a group of terrified soldiers.

"Stand fast, everyone!" He howled, his voice much more high-pitched than he had intended for it to be. "And receive your enemy. The Southern troops are advancing to support you! Washington is advancing to support you! Guns out, swords drawn. Let's go!"

He rode to the very front of the line. Uncertain soldiers surrounded him. They didn't bolster quite the way that Alexander had been hoping, but he did manage to halt the retreat. They were going forward. That was enough.

"Hamilton!" Washington materialized in about ten minutes. He was furious. Alexander could only imagine how many lashes Lee had received with Washington's riding crop when he showed up in Alexander's place. Washington was flanked by both Laurens and McHenry and was followed by about one hundred men. Lafayette was left in charge of the Southern forces. "What the hell is going on here?"

Alexander rode towards the back of the lines. By now, the soldiers had been rallied enough that they would not retreat without Alexander screaming at everyone on the front.

"I caught Lee in the middle of a retreat, sir." Alexander called over the roars of battle. "I've been trying to bolster the troops to give your Southern forces more support."

"I'll take it from here." Washington instructed. "Take a few men and attack the right flank of their forces. McHenry, you take the left. Laurens, you lay low and wait until my men have already attacked before bringing more forces forward to overwhelm."

Without another word, Washington rode forward towards the fighting. The three aides left in his wake quickly maneuvered to follow his instructions.

For his part, Alexander faired pretty well throughout Monmouth. He crippled the right flank of the Hanoverian forces and pressed forward. Then his horse was shot out from under him. The horse was a gorgeous Appaloosa named Captain. Alexander had spent half a year's pay on Captain.

But he was severely injured and could not muster the energy to mourn Captain just yet. He allowed Laurens to pull him off of the battlefield and hand him off to the soldier responsible for any and all wounded officers. Said soldier threw Alexander over his horse and rode him about five miles away from the battlefield, where there was a car waiting. Alexander was then put in the car with six other wounded officers. That car drove them to the hospital, where Alexander was briefly examined, then put in an air-conditioned recovery room with hundreds of other officers. Ironically enough, Alexander's bed was next to the bed of none other than Aaron Burr.

"Alexander," Burr did not look good. His face was pale, his voice was raspy, and his eyes were bloodshot. "I can't say I'm not surprised to see you here. I thought you were Washington's aide."

"I am." Alexander agreed. He was not quite so afflicted as Burr. He had a few bandages and a fractured wrist. He was already eager to escape the confines of the hospital and return to the battle field. "Washington sent me to scout General Lee's position. When I got there, I found him in full retreat. It was everything I could do to turn the soldiers back around and keep them fighting. We didn't have a commanding officer to spare."

"Hm. Lady Luck once again shows you favor." Burr said with a small smile. "Where is Lee now?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. I know he went running back to Washington once I took charge. I imagine he'll be court marshaled." Alexander didn't know why Burr was so interested in Lee and his fate. Lee was history. It was not the time to worry about being on Lee's good side.

"Shit," Burr groaned, throwing his head back against his pillow.

"Anyway," Alexander knew that he wouldn't agree with Burr's political choices and chose to keep the conversation points light. "What happened to you?"

"My horse got shot out from under me." Burr said.

"Me too!" Alexander said. He looked Burr over critically. "But I don't think it was nearly as bad for me as it must've been for you. Did the horse roll over onto you?"

Burr smiled and shook his head. "I was told to keep fighting, so I did. I landed pretty well, so I didn't see any reason why I shouldn't follow orders. Then I had a sun stroke."

Alexander nodded. It was brutally hot; over 100 degrees. It wasn't hard to imagine that a handful of soldiers were suffering from the heat alone.

"Do you think we're winning?" Burr asked, trying to look out the window with an incredible amount of difficulty.

"I don't know." Alexander admitted. "But based off of the conduct of everyone except Lee, I'd say we have a fair chance of winning."

"The battle or the war?"

Alexander smiled. "Both."

* * *

"Charles Lee, you are hereby removed from the patriot army. Your suspension will last a year. Additionally, you will be held under arrest and await a day in court with the court marshal. Do you accept the consequences of your actions as I see fit?" Washington's voice was taut with anger as he handcuffed Lee.

Lee scowled ahead of him, not meeting Washington's eyes. "Yes, sir."

"Burr." Washington had selected Aaron Burr to escort Charles Lee back to his home in Virginia. Burr made no secret of his sympathy for Lee and his cause. He agreed that Lee should have retreated from Monmouth, asserting that the stalemate was not worth the lives that its achievement cost. Washington was probably sending him with Lee to get his bad attitude out of camp for a little while. "If you will."

"Yes, sir." Burr and Lee both mounted their respective horses and began the journey back to Virginia.

"How long do you think Lee is going to take this?" John asked Alexander quietly as they watched Lee's departure.

"A week, maybe two." Alexander answered grimly.

Charles Lee was a brat. It was ridiculous, calling a grown man a brat, but that's what he was. He would sulk and pout and ultimately throw a temper tantrum that would likely send Washington into a fit of rage. The only question floating around camp was when such a tantrum would occur.

* * *

One week on the nose. That was how long Charles Lee's silence lasted.

A week after Washington had banished him to Virginia for a year, Charles Lee began speaking to the papers. Tory newspapers and patriot newspapers alike began printing his disparaging remarks about Washington and his leadership skills.

It was driving Washington crazy. He wouldn't outwardly say so, but Alexander had caught him reading the newspapers late at night when he thought that no one would notice. Martha had returned to camp in effort to try to soothe her husband. It didn't work. He was more critical than ever. He spent days drilling troops who never performed well enough to make him happy. He screamed at them until dinner. He tore his office apart every evening, growing unnaturally enraged when he couldn't find what he was looking for within the first few seconds of searching. Alexander was forced to clean up after him, his mouth shut and his eyes reproachful.

John tried to convince Alexander to take up a pen, to counter Lee's criticisms in the paper. Alexander refused. Washington was lashing out at everyone; he would not respond kindly to Alexander's efforts at assistance. It seemed far more likely that Washington would overreact to being treated as a damsel in distress and would fire Alexander right on sight.

"Well," John decided one night, after Washington had ruined a dinner party Martha Washington had attempted to host. Frances had begun crying. Washington grew frustrated by the noise, claiming that he had dealt with enough babies while drilling the troops; he did not need to listen to yet another one. Naturally, John had taken the most offense to the anger Washington directed towards his daughter. "If you won't write to the newspapers shutting him down, I'll have to shut him up myself."

"Really? You?" Alexander couldn't hide his amusement. John was hardly an eloquent writer.

"Really. Me." John typed something up on Alexander's laptop. He turned it around so Alexander could get a better look at the words.

 **To: Charles Lee**

 **From: Alexander Hamilton; From the Desk of George Washington**

 **Lee,**

 **You have 2 choices. Stop disparaging Washington in the presses, or meet me at Point no point road with a loaded pistol and a second. Hamilton will be my second. I will procure a doctor.**

 **Your devoted correspondent,**

 **John Laurens**

"A duel?" Alexander didn't bother hiding his disapproval. Unfortunately, he didn't bother considering his volume, either. His loud question awoke Frances, who had been sleeping in the next room. John scowled at Alexander before getting up to tend to his daughter. Martha, his ex-girlfriend, was visiting her family for a week and was of little assistance.

Alexander got up and followed John into the nursery. "You can't be serious. You'll die!"

"No, I won't." John argued, smiling down at Frances.

"Yes, you will." Alexander persisted. "And even if you don't die, what do you think Washington is going to say when he finds out that you committed murder on his behalf?"

"So I won't kill Lee."

"You don't know that."

John shrugged, bringing Frances into the kitchen to make her a snack. "Murder doesn't have to be on the table."

"Any time you're firing a gun at people, murder is on the table."

"Listen, will you be my second, or not? I'm not going to ask your permission to do this, but I would prefer that you be there. I could ask Lafayette, but he's not so good with the English, so I'd worry the negotiations wouldn't go all that well."

"Plus he tells Washington everything." Alexander couldn't help but smile.

"Also that." John agreed. "So what do you say, Hammie? Will you be my second?"

"Fine." Alexander sighed. "But if your stupid ass gets killed, I'm going to raise Frances myself solely so I can be the one to tell her that I told you so."

"You're a petty man, Hammie." John chuckled.

* * *

"You will each walk ten paces before turning and firing. No sooner than that. Do you understand?" Charles Lee's second, Major Edwards, proclaimed.

"I do." John didn't take his eyes off of Lee.

"I do." Lee agreed.

"Okay," Alexander sighed. He didn't like this situation - he didn't like the idea of duels at all - but he knew there was no stopping John when he got his mind set on something. Reckless and arrogant as Alexander was, John was more reckless and more arrogant still. "Turn around and start the count out loud whenever you're ready. If and when one of you is shot, please declare it so; so the doctor may tend to you as quickly as possible to minimize an injury."

"One." John was not fooling around. He immediately started going through the paces. Lee hastily jumped to catch up, also counting out loud.

"I don't like this." Edwards confessed as the two men went through the ten paces.

"Me neither." Alexander agreed.

"It's senseless." Edwards continued.

"I know." Alexander didn't take his eyes off of the men.

"Ten!" The moment the two men reached ten, two shots were fired.

Nothing seemed to have happened. John cocked his pistol, evidently preparing to fire a second shot.

"I'm shot!" Lee suddenly called. Instead of firing the shot that he had prepared for, John let his gun hang down at his side. He turned to get a better look at Lee. Alexander and Edwards both took a few steps towards the men to get a better look as well.

Blood was beginning to soak through Lee's shirt. It was his lower abdomen. He was still standing, so the wound did not appear to have punctured any of his vital organs.

"Do you yield?" Alexander asked firmly.

"No," Lee decided. "The wound isn't as bad as I thought it might've been. I can stand another round. Let's do another round!"

"Okay. Standard rules?" John was ready to go.

"No," Edwards protested. "Charlie, you've been shot. You're already losing a lot of blood. What, do you want to keep shooting until one of you is dead?"

"I agree." Alexander contributed. "I think that you had better get a doctor to look at you, Lee."

"Fine." Lee said. "I have confidence in you, Major Edwards. If you and Colonel Hamilton reach a conclusion about whether there should be a ceasefire or not while I am being seen by the doctor, I'll honor such a conclusion."

"Me too." John added. "I trust you, Hammie."

Alexander nodded and followed Edwards a few yards away from where the doctor had begun to dress Lee's wound.

"Charlie is done." Edwards said before Alexander could get a word out. "He's trying to be brave. He's been looking for some way to prove himself ever since Monmouth. He'll let Colonel Laurens kill him before he'll yield."

"John's willing to die to defend Washington." Alexander agreed, running a hand through his hair. "Do you think that Lee would be willing to apologize for the interviews he gave to the papers?"

"I don't." Edwards said. "He's stubborn as a mule. He won't admit he's wrong. He would rather die."

Alexander let out a frustrated sigh, beginning to pace. John wouldn't leave Lee be if he continued to insult Washington. That was the whole purpose of the duel in the first place. John was fiercely loyal to Washington and would rather die than allow Lee to go on insulting Washington in every media outlet he could access.

"Would Lee be willing to agree to stop smearing Washington's name in the papers?"

"Maybe." Edwards said thoughtfully. "Could you think of something to exchange that for? I doubt Charlie would want to agree to a deal in which he got nothing."

"He got shot." Alexander provided unhelpfully.

"Colonel Hamilton." Edwards was in no mood for jokes, it seemed.

"Listen, we just need him to stop insulting Washington. We're both only aides to the commander - we don't have anything substantial we can promise him. We can't give him his job back. I don't think Washington would at this point, either. Neither of us have much money, so we can't pay him off, either."

Edwards frowned, looking off at Lee. "He won't agree to nothing."

"What if I promise not to write a counter argument to every single insult he puts in the paper about Washington from this point forward?"

"You haven't been doing that anyway, have you?"

"No, but I could start. Do you remember The Farmer, by Samuel Seabury?"

"Yes, of course."

"Do you remember that writer he kept engaging in arguments with?"

"Yes."

Alexander smiled menacingly. "That would be me."

"No." Edwards didn't seem to want to believe him.

"You don't have to believe me," Alexander told him. "But if you don't take this deal, you'll find out the truth pretty soon. Want to risk it?"

"Fine." Edwards sighed. He began walking back in the direction of John and Lee. "Gentlemen, we've reached an agreement!"

* * *

"You almost had to kill him." Alexander told John as they made their way back towards camp. "Either that, or you would have had to die, yourself. You would have either had to have Lee's blood on your hands for the rest of your life, or you would have had to leave Frances in Martha's incapable hands for the rest of her life."

"I knew it wouldn't come to that." John boasted smugly.

"I had to threaten to publicly counter every single remark Lee made about Washington for the rest of my life if he didn't agree to yield. Do you know how much work that would've been?"

"Jesus. I'd have sooner taken a bullet."

"I almost let you." Alexander smirked.

"Wouldn't Washington have been surprised if he woke up today and was told that I had died? How would you have explained it, anyway?" John asked, squinting in the direction of the rising sun.

Alexander shrugged. "I would have told the truth. You were being a raging asshole."

"I'm so lucky to have a friend like you."

"Uh-huh. Listen, not a word of this to Washington when we get back to camp, you hear me? He'd fire us both if he knew. You, your dad could get you another job. He's the new president of Congress. I don't have the same kind of luck that you do. Half of Congress hates me because I send them fifty emails a day, Washington'd hate me for letting your dumb ass take part in a duel, and I really don't have any more contacts than that." Alexander said.

"Of course, man. Believe it or not, I don't want to get you fired. The Revolution would suck so much more without you."

"Then you'll do what's good for you and keep your mouth shut."

* * *

 **It's later than Friday and I profusely apologize, but surely you all understand yesterday was a chaotic day for an American who lives painfully close to Washington D.C.**

 **Anyway - Laurens shot Lee and Alexander proved himself at Monmouth. We're having a good time now, folks!**

 **Also, I started a Hamilton forum! If you are a Hamilton nerd wishing to discuss Hamilton with other Hamilton nerds, head on over and check it out:**

 **forum/Them-Ruffians/199878/**


	13. Chapter 13

"Lieutenant Colonel?" Alexander asked, shocked. John sat across from him at the table, clutching a mug of coffee. A letter from Congress sat on the table between them. "What for?"

"Valorous conduct at Monmouth." John answered, slumping in his seat a bit.

"Valorous conduct?" Alexander nearly choked on the words. He had been the one to stop Lee's forces from retreating at Monmouth. He had fought until his horse was shot out from under him and he was forced to stop. He would have fought longer if Washington hadn't demanded that John take him to get medical attention. Perhaps if Henry Laurens, president of Congress, was Alexander's father, his conduct might have merited a promotion, too.

"Look, I'm going to turn it down," John assured him, as if he could read Alexander's mind.

"Really?" Alexander couldn't help but feel relieved. Now he wouldn't have to worry about the jealousy he would feel whenever he saw John in his officer's uniform. Additionally, John would stay at Washington's camp with him and Lafayette.

"Yeah, of course." John smiled. It wasn't necessarily a genuine smile, but Alexander was too selfish to admit that to himself. "If I took that job, I'd have to move Martha and Frances. I'd have to pack up all of my stuff and be put in charge of more people. That's a lot of work."

He was lying. Alexander was letting him.

"Alright." Alexander stood up from the table and patted John's shoulder. John smiled up at him piteously. "Well, then that's settled. What do you want to do for dinner? I think Martha is coming to camp this afternoon, so she'll probably have something warm in Washington's quarters. I think there's a restaurant a few miles away that hasn't been burned down yet, too. Or did you just want to make something here? I'm running out of rations, so we might have to split yours."

"Let's not go to Washington's tent." John shook his head. "Let's see about that restaurant. I'm out of rations, too."

"What happened to your rations?" Alexander asked as they both collected their coats.

"I gave them to Lafayette. What happened to yours?"

"I gave them to Lafayette." Alexander said, puzzled.

John just laughed, pushing open the door as they left Alexander's quarters. "What do you think that French bastard is doing with all of those rations?"

"I can't even begin to imagine." Alexander chuckled.

"Maybe he's harboring French fugitives." John speculated.

"Maybe he brought his wife overseas and is hiding her in his quarters." Alexander suggested.

"Maybe he took a second wife while he was in America."

"Maybe he took everyone's rations so Martha could make a grand feast for him and Washington."

"Maybe Jacky is visiting and Lafayette is getting on Washington's good side by letting him carry on his life of luxury while visiting camp."

The two carried on this way as they walked three and a half miles to the restaurant that Alexander had noticed when they had marched into camp. They made each other laugh as their speculations grew wilder and wilder. It seemed that both young men had forgotten John's almost-promotion. It wasn't until they reached the restaurant that their laughter stopped.

"Son of a -"

The restaurant had been burnt down.

"Well, Hammie, that looks like things changed between last night and now." John didn't seem mad about it. His voice was full of laughter. "I guess it was just a matter of time."

"Yeah…" Alexander ran a hand through his hair. Every restaurant and grocery store was being systematically destroyed by both the redcoats and the patriots. Neither side wanted the other to have the advantage of food that would not give them dysentery. "Want to go back and see if Martha still has food on the table?"

"If not, we can always check out Lafayette's quarters and see if he still has all those extra rations laying around."

"Good plan." Alexander agreed.

Once they got to Washington's quarters, Martha invited them in feverishly. She always broke into a nervous frenzy when she hosted the boys. Washington apologetically explained that she had always wanted a house full of boys; she was rarely happier than when she had a house full of young soldiers to care for.

Martha heaped food upon them and made them all tell her about their days. She laughed when she heard that John and Alexander had walked all the way to the burned down restaurant before realizing that it was burned down. She barely let anyone get a word in until she finally succumbed to her hunger and took a bite of the meat loaf she had prepared. It was then that Washington finally spoke.

"Congratulations on your promotion, John. I received a copy of the letter sent to you this afternoon." He said, carving at his meatloaf before glancing up at John. "Will you need any supplies to get you started? I'm sure Adams would be more than happy to send you a new uniform."

"Actually, sir, I don't think that I'm going to accept the promotion." John said, not looking up from his plate.

Washington's face fell. "What?"

"It's just a lot of responsibility, sir." John didn't meet Washington's eyes. "I have a family to consider. I'm not sure that I'm the right man for the job."

"Is that so?" Washington glanced at Alexander. Alexander looked down at his plate, too. "Son, why don't we discuss this in my office?"

"George." Martha protested.

Washington smiled. It was a strained smile. "It's fine, darling. It will only take a moment. It will only take a moment. Laurens?"

"Yes, sir." John frowned at Alexander before following Washington to his office.

* * *

"So, what did the General want to talk to you about?" Alexander asked as they left Washington's quarters. He knew what Washington wanted to talk to John about, he just wanted to know how John responded. It wouldn't do to ask that upfront, though.

John shot him a sideways smirk. "What do you think that he wanted to talk to me about? He's furious that I'm even considering turning down the promotion."

"Considering?" Alexander echoed, his heart sinking. "I thought that you were definitely turning it down."

"I don't know, Hammie." John murmured, kicking at the dirt as they walked. "It is a really good opportunity. I could allow immigrants to serve in the military. As a commanding officer, I'd be in a position to make sure they all got equal pay. That's more than I'm doing by just going to protests when Washington gives me the day off."

"But you'll leave."

John sighed. "There are things more important than us being together, Hammie."

"I know that." Alexander snapped, furious. "But we were supposed to do those important things together. Do you really think that you're going to change the world by taking advantage of your connections?"

John looked at him for a moment, disbelieving. "You think that I'm only getting this promotion because of my dad."

Alexander scowled, not justifying John's accusation with an answer. Mostly because he was right.

"I thought that you of all people would be happy for me." John said, sounding more hurt than angry. "I thought that you would understand that I have to do whatever it takes to get things done. If our roles were reversed, would you even take a second to consider turning this opportunity down?"

"That's not fair." Alexander protested.

"I'm going." John said firmly. "That's all there is to it. You can either support me, or not. Either way, I won't be here when you wake up tomorrow. Goodnight, Alexander."

* * *

It was true. John Laurens was gone.

Alexander woke up and immediately knew that his best friend had departed for his own camp. As he shuffled into the kitchen to get coffee (or liquor, he hadn't made up his mind yet), he noticed that John had left him a letter lying on the kitchen table where his promotion had been the day before.

Alexander picked it up, fully expecting John to list off the ways that Alexander could atone himself for being so obnoxious the night before.

 _Hammie,_

 _I don't expect you to support or forgive me for this, but I do ask that you don't ignore me. I don't know if I can do this by myself. I begged Washington to appoint you so that you might come along and give me advice when I best need it, but I should have known better than to ask Washington to part ways with his crown jewel. Don't resent him for that, Hammie. He loves you._

 _Anyway, when I call your phone, please answer it. When I write you letters, please write back. This is going to be so, so difficult and I wouldn't have accepted my nomination if I didn't think that you would help me when I found myself lacking. You have always made me better, Hammie, and you'll never know how much I appreciate it._

 _Also, can you please take videos when Washington hits people? Specifically McHenry. It always makes me laugh._

 _Love always,_

 _Laurens_

* * *

John had concocted a plan. He had spent his first five months as an officer collecting information and concocting bills and legislature to send to Congress. He wanted a battalion of immigrants and he wanted to pay them just as much as everyone else. He even had public support from Abigail Adams, John Adams - president of the War Board - 's wife.

Alexander had helped him write up drafts. They spent hours on the phone into the wee hours of the morning. Alexander would often fall asleep at Washington's desk after staying up all night editing John's grammar mistakes. John was not good at grammar.

That said, Alexander did not have too much hope for John's initiative. Congress was just progressive enough to oppose Hanover, but not oppressive enough to grant the people all of the liberties they requested. White men with money stood to benefit most from the revolution. Not immigrants.

Still, he wished John all the best when he sent in his documents to Congress. They would be put on the floor immediately. He was, after all, still the son of the President of Congress.

Alexander, meanwhile, was not the darling of the public eye. In fact, he was starting to catch criticism that politicians knew they could not aim at Washington. Criticizing Washington was certain political suicide, so they aimed their attacks at a man they perceived as his right hand man. Alexander. They accused him of supporting George Hanover. They accused him of siphoning off money meant for the soldiers' salaries. They printed his picture in papers with the nastiest headlines possible overhead. It was driving him out of his ever-loving mind.

But he was a professional. He would grin and bear it. For now.

Alexander's phone rang the night of the vote on John's bill. He was working late. Washington had received petitions from all of the soldiers asking for a pay increase. They had created a union. As there was no money to be found in the budget, Washington knew that he had no choice but to turn the soldiers down. So he asked Alexander to put in extra hours trying to figure out the best way to do it.

Alexander figured Washington wouldn't mind him taking a quick break to answer John's phone call.

"Hey," He didn't bother pretending that he didn't know who was calling. "How did it go?"

"Not good." John's question grumbled. "They didn't even get to the end of the bill! They took one look at the cost and decided that they could put a price tag on morality. My men are devastated."

"They know that you tried your best for them." Alexander reminded him.

"That won't do them a lot of good when their family is starving." John groaned.

"So tell them to revolt against the revolutionaries." Alexander suggesting, flicking through yet another newspaper dragging his name through the mud.

"That's treasonous, Hammie." John reminded him. Alexander could hear his smile in his voice. "Washington could have you court marshaled."

"Haven't you read the papers? It turns out that I'm the most treasonous son of a bitch that's ever walked this earth."

"I've always said that about you." John chuckled. He paused for a minute before asking, "You know better than to take them seriously, don't you?"

"It's my name, Laurens. It's not just some conspiracy about what's going on in the army, they're singling me out. All a man has is his reputation and they're taking mine away before I even had the chance to build it up."

"Just don't dignify it with your anger." John told him. "That's what they want."

"If I could just write back to them -"

"No. That's the worst possible thing you could do. Act like it's so blatantly false that you couldn't make yourself spend more than a second considering it."

"If I stay silent, they'll assume I'm guilty."

"Who is they?"

"The people."

"Why do you care what the people think?"

"I think you're missing the whole point of this revolution, Laurens."

"And I think you're taking the paper too seriously, Hammie."

Alexander sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I don't know how I can't."

"You'll just have to try your best."

Alexander was quiet for a moment. He rocked back and forth in his desk chair, looking around the empty office for a moment. "Do you think we'll ever see each other again?"

"I don't know, Hammie." John answered grimly. "I hope so."


	14. Chapter 14

"Your Excellency, sir -" Alexander chased Washington across the camp as the older man searched for breakfast. Washington had burned his own breakfast.

"No, Alexander."

"You don't even know what I'm going to ask you."

"You're going to ask to join Laurens in South Carolina again."

"And why shouldn't I go?" Alexander persisted, following Washington.

"Because I need you here," Washington answered. "End of story."

Alexander frowned, cutting his losses and returning to his quarters.

* * *

It was around that time that Alexander sunk into a deep, deep depression.

Depression was hardly a new concept to Alexander. In fact, it was an intermittent part of his life as an orphan with no prospects. And now, with the black cloud looming overhead, he knew that it would only be a matter of time until he sunk to the low point that he only visited on the worst of occasions. Washington must have known it, too, because the day after his final rejection of Alexander's request, he obtained something that he believed would resolve Alexander's bout of depression.

"Alexander," Philip Schuyler called him - unbeknownst to Alexander, acting at Washington's request. "How are you, son?"

"I'm good, sir." Alexander lied. "How are you?"

"To tell you the truth, son, I'm in dire need of some good company. I think that with both Junior and Angelica out fighting in the war, we're all getting pretty stir crazy. How would you like to spend a weekend at the mansion with the family? I'm sure that Eliza and Peggy would love having someone under the age of thirty around the house for a little while."

Alexander perked up. In the craziness of the war, he'd forgotten about Eliza Schuyler.

"I don't know, sir. The General seems reluctant to let me go for any purpose." Alexander recalled - bitterly - the rejection of his perpetual proposals to go join John's forces in the South.

"Well, that's a shame." Philip did not sound too concerned about it. "But it is worth a shot. Why don't you ask anyway? I might be able to make a few calls, convince him that your time would be best served in the service of the Schuyler family."

"I would appreciate that, sir," Alexander said with a small smile.

"Then I would be happy to do it. Pack your bags, son. We'll expect you this weekend."

* * *

In what seemed to Alexander to be a miraculous change of heart, Washington assured Alexander that he could spare his aide for a week. He permitted Alexander to pack a bag, saddle a horse, and make his way to the Schuyler mansion.

Upon his arrival, Alexander allowed one of the Schuylers' servants to take his horse to the stable they now maintained. Another servant went to fetch Philip Schuyler to alert him to Alexander's presence. Philip then emerged from the mansion, a wide smile on his face.

"Alexander!" He called, approaching Alexander. He shook his hand enthusiastically. "How the hell are you, son? I hear that you've been making an exceptional effort on the war front. Did you really have a horse shot out from under you at Monmouth?"

"Yes, sir." Alexander was glad that the story had reached the Schuyler mansion. He hoped that Eliza had heard about his bravery at the battle, too.

"You'll have to tell us all about it." Philip decided, putting his arm over Alexander's shoulder paternally as he steered Alexander into the mansion. "I know that Peggy is just about foaming at the mouth for war stories. Angelica calls every other night, and not even that can satisfy her. She turns eighteen in a few months, you know. I'm sure that you'll see her around camp soon enough."

"Three children fighting in the war." Alexander let out a low whistle. "You must be proud."

Philip shrugged. He led Alexander into his office, where he gestured for Alexander to sit in one of the overstuffed leather chairs. He offered Alexander a drink and a cigar. Alexander accepted a drink but turned down the cigar. "I'm proud of all of my children, whether they're fighting in the war or not. All of them fight for what they believe in. Philip believes in fairness, which is why he's off at war. Angelica believes in equality, which is why she's off at war. Peggy believes in adventure, which is why she would gladly go to war. Eliza believes in goodness, which is why she chose to remain at home with Mrs. Schuyler and me, tending to every soldier who staggers up to our doorstep."

"Wow." Alexander took a long sip of the drink that Philip had poured him. It was whiskey. Alexander didn't care for whiskey. Still, he smiled as it burned his throat. "And what do you believe in, sir?"

"I believe in family," Philip answered thoughtfully, taking a drag of his cigar before exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. It smelled like a hamper full of dirty laundry. "Which is why I'm happy to support all of my children, no matter what kind of life they choose for themselves."

"That's very admirable, sir."

"And what about you, Alexander?"

"What about me, sir?" Alexander forced himself to take another gulp of the revolting whiskey.

"What do you believe in?"

"Well," Alexander hadn't really thought about that question too much. "I suppose I believe in more than one thing. I believe in fairness, principally, I believe in equality, morally, I believe in adventure, recklessly, and I believe in goodness, optimistically. But I guess if I had to put my finger on just one thing, I'd say that I believe in myself."

"Clever answer." Philip grinned, taking another drag of cigar.

"Thank you, sir." Alexander returned the smile before forcing down another gulp of the disgusting whiskey. He silently questioned why people paid actual money in exchange for such a vile substance.

"Papa?" Peggy poked her head in the office doorway. Her eyes immediately sought out Alexander. They lit up as the two made eye contact. "Oh, good! He's here! Eliza, he's here!"

Philip chuckled as Peggy's head left the doorway. She shouted to her sister, informing her of Alexander's presence again.

"They've been anxiously awaiting your arrival," Philip explained quickly and quietly, likely expecting Peggy's return again. "With their brother and sister gone, they've been starved for the company of peers."

"I understand completely," Alexander said, trying his best to ignoring his heart jumping around as he heard Eliza's voice from the upper level of the mansion. He lamely reached for his bag, which contained the thank-you letter that never got mailed. He hoped that Eliza would believe him when he assured her that he had intended to send it all along, but had been foiled by Angelica's sudden change in phone number.

"Alexander!" Peggy returned to the office, throwing herself onto the couch across from Alexander's chair. "How have you been? How is General Washington? Did you really get shot at during the battle of Monmouth? Did you see Aaron Burr there? He told me all about it."

"You know Burr?" Alexander asked with some interest.

"He stayed here a few weeks ago," Philip answered. "Along with Charles Lee."

"Ah." Alexander suddenly remembered that the Schuylers were on the designated route that Lee had been forced to take when returning to his home state of Virginia. "Uh, yes. I did see Aaron Burr. We were both in the hospital together after the battle."

"He told me that he fought the entire battle," Peggy argued.

"Then I'm afraid he lied." Alexander tried to lighten his protest up a bit with a playful smile. "I'd like to be able to tell you that I fought in the whole battle, too, but the fact is that it was dangerously warm out, the Hanoverians were fighting like hell, and the conditions were just too awful for any man to withstand the whole time. We fought in waves. Aaron and I were among the first wave. It's only natural that we expired before the affair was through."

"Hm." Peggy flopped back against the couch, dejected. Apparently, Aaron Burr had been her perfect adventurer before Alexander had come along and spoiled it for her.

"Say, son, why don't you go on up to your room and get unpacked before dinner? You might have time to fit in a shower, too. I'm sure that you're feeling just shy of human right now." Philip suggested, sensing the tension between Alexander and Peggy.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea." Alexander smiled gratefully. "Thank you, sir."

He downed the rest of his disgusting whiskey before grabbing his bag and heading up the stairs towards the residential area of the mansion. He sought out the bedroom that he had stayed in during his last visit at the Schuyler mansion.

Once there, he began to unpack his belongings as he would use them. He had brought his nicest clothes. He still worried that they were not nice enough. He was not used to hanging around wealthy families like the Schuylers. Sure, General Washington was a wealthy man of aristocratic stature, but everyone was an equal at camp. The same did not ring true at the Schuyler mansion.

As he worried over his worn sweaters and ripped jeans, a hauntingly familiar voice drew his attention away from his social inadequacy.

"Alexander?"

It was Eliza.

He turned around and smiled. It wasn't his charming smile, so carefully employed. It wasn't his polite smile, either. It wasn't any sort of smile that was mindfully crafted for a specific purpose. It was a genuine smile. It was an almost relieved smile; like Alexander had been drowning and Eliza was the fresh breath of air that he so desperately needed.

"Eliza, hey."

"You remembered my name." Eliza seemed surprised.

"Of course I remembered your name." Alexander looked at her strangely, like he couldn't imagine the possibility of forgetting Eliza. "You're the only person who sent me a Christmas card this year. How could I forget something like that?"

"Oh." Eliza blushed furiously. "I wasn't trying to -"

"It meant a lot," Alexander assured her. "As a matter of fact…" He began to rifle through his bag in search of the thank-you note destined for Eliza. It had slipped to the bottom of his bag at some point during the journey, causing it to crease, fold, and tear. Still, he offered it to Eliza sheepishly. "I meant to thank you sooner, but I couldn't find your address."

Eliza accepted the note, smiling down at it like it was made of pure gold. "That was so thoughtfully of you!"

"Well, it's a little bit worse for the wear, but -"

"I love it," Eliza said firmly, clutching the note to her chest. "Thank you, Alexander. Really."

"Yeah, of course."

"Dinner!"

Eliza suddenly fluttered her hands, like she had suddenly remembered herself. "Oh, but you wanted to shower before dinner, didn't you? I should go down and help Mama set the table. I - thank you for this again, Alexander. I'll see you at dinner."

She rushed out of the room before Alexander had time to say anything else. Alexander watched her departure with a grin, amused at just how adorable Eliza Schuyler was. He would marry that girl. He was sure of it.

But he would not impress her by smelling like a sweaty horse. Nor would he make a very good impression on the Schuyler family. So he shut the door behind the fleeing Eliza and turned on the shower.

* * *

"Do you have to go back to camp?" A week had passed and it was soon Alexander's last night at the Schuyler mansion. He and Eliza sat on the porch swing out front. They had spent every night on that porch swing, talking about just about everything in the world. Alexander had told Eliza about his life in the Caribbean before being sent to America to live with the Stephens. Eliza told Alexander about her job at an orphanage in the city. Alexander confessed that he was terribly afraid of the country's future. Eliza told Alexander that she was unwaveringly optimistic about the country's future.

But now, on Alexander's last night at the Schuyler mansion, they carried out a different conversation altogether.

"The General is planning to move the camp next month. He needs me to figure out the logistics of the move."

Eliza pretended to frown, but the ghost of a smile graced her delicate features. "I guess I'll let you go. For the sake of the country."

"I'll visit every night until we move," Alexander promised.

"Will you really?" Eliza sat up, her posture rigid. Her dark eyes lit up with excitement. Or maybe it was the moonlight's reflection. Either way, Alexander's heart did a backflip in his chest.

"Every night," Alexander vowed.

"Papa will like that." It was obvious that Eliza was trying to temper her enthusiasm. "And Peggy. Peggy loves your stories."

"You're the only one I'm interested in seeing here," Alexander told her.

"Really?" Eliza seemed hopeful but wary. "Why?"

Alexander smiled wryly. "Why do you think?"

* * *

As promised, Alexander spent every night of that month at the Schuyler mansion. When Washington moved the camp a few miles Southwest of its original location, Alexander journeyed the extra few miles each night to continue to see Eliza.

He wouldn't profess his love to her; not yet. He didn't feel that it was fair to do so. She was the girl who had everything, and he was the guy who had nothing. He couldn't possibly give her anything. He couldn't offer her a fancy ring, a secure future, or even a life of happiness. He didn't think it would be right to claim any sort of emotional investment from her until he could offer her at least one of those things.

But she knew. Judging from the looks and the inflection in her voice and the constant stream of texts, it was easy to see that Eliza knew exactly how Alexander felt. She was just being patient with him; not forcing him to say anything until he was ready.

That night was fast approaching.

As Alexander staggered home, drunk off of happiness and a little bit of Philip Schuyler's disgusting whiskey, he encountered the trench of the fort and two of the soldiers guarding it. As was standard procedure for camp, they demanded that Alexander tell them the password before he could enter the camp.

"Right, sure, of course. It's -"

It was then that Alexander realized that he had forgotten the password.

"I'm sorry, fellas. I can't…I can't remember it."

"Alexander, we can't let you in if you don't remember the password." One of the soldiers said apologetically.

"I understand." Alexander conceded. "Would you mind if I stayed here? I might crash a little bit, but as long as you make sure no one slits my throat in the middle of the night, I won't require much."

"Yes, sir." The other soldier agreed with a laugh.

That was how Alexander wound up sleeping with his back propped up against the ridge of the trench and his jacket serving as a blanket. And that was how Lafayette found him the next morning, sound asleep as the rest of the camp sprung into life around General Washington's headquarters.

"Alexander?" Lafayette shook him awake, laughing.

"Hm? Oh, Lafayette, hey." Alexander said groggily, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes. "I forgot the password last night, so I had to stay out here."

"You were at the Schuyler mansion, no?" Lafayette crouched down next to him.

"I was," Alexander confirmed.

"So." Lafayette's smile grew less amused and more grave. "When are you going to tell Laurens?"


End file.
